The Bridge
by Marzipan77
Summary: The divide between the academic and the military mind must be bridged. It isn't easy, and one person will never be the same. Why Daniel changed, and yet remained the same. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: "The Bridge" takes place between the Season 3 episodes "Maternal Instinct" and "The Crystal Skull." I wanted to emphasize the changes that have overcome Daniel at this time in his life, and to write a fic where the character is neither a whiny child nor a stumbling incompetent. Daniel has never struck me as either.**

Learning Curve

"Briefing in fifteen, Danie…." Damn. He wished this was the first time he'd stumbled on this scene, but it was becoming all too frequent if you asked him. When Jack turned the corner into Daniel's office at 08:00 he expected a droopy-eyed archaeologist guzzling his fourth cup of coffee of the morning, not a head-on-desk, out-like-a-light teammate who obviously hadn't even left his office since the night before. Walking into the cluttered space, Jack glanced around at the piles of reports and boxes of rocks and doodads all demanding the attention of one Daniel Jackson, genius, raging workaholic, and member of SG-1. "Weight of the world" boy. He flipped over one of the tags attached to a cat-cow-pig thing. P4J-993. SG-7. Reports with notes attached from General Hammond's office filled with letters like ASAP. Notes from some of the other researchers on the base, "Daniel, can't quite make this out, maybe you could give it a try." "Dr. Jackson, this negotiation is crucial and I'd like your thoughts…" Right. Translations while you wait. And everyone seemed to be waiting for him.

Jack rubbed one hand across his face. "For crying out loud, Daniel, doesn't anybody else on your staff have a freaking clue?"

"Jack?" Daniel's head snapped up, his usually piercing blue eyes bleary with sleep.

"Daniel." It was more of a sigh. "You do know we're scheduled to go off-world at 14:30 today, right? Off-world, as in, danger, tattooed guys with bad attitudes, possibly alien princesses to avoid?"

"What?" Daniel pushed both palms against his eyes and rubbed, eventually trailing his fingers up to sweep through his hair. It was getting long, again. No time to deal with it, just like food, sleep, life. Not much of that anyway. He squinted at his watch and sat back in his chair heavily. "Crap."

"'Crap' doesn't begin to describe it, Danny-boy."

It was Daniel's turn to sigh. "I thought if I could just finish a few of these translations last night, I could focus better on today's mission."

Commanding officer of SG-1, SIC of Stargate Command, and friend Col. Jack O'Neill settled one hip on Daniel's desk, pushing papers and artifacts out of the way before crossing his arms over his chest. "This can't keep happening, Daniel."

"I know, Jack."

"We're a field team."

"You don't have to keep reminding me."

"Third night in a row."

"I know! Wait, what?" Daniel grabbed his glasses from the desk next to him and pushed them onto his face, blinking up at Jack with a frown. "How did you know?"

"Commanding officer, Danny-boy, all knowing, all seeing, like that glowy-squid like-chick we met last week." He waved one hand in the air to describe his eerie supernatural abilities before finally pointing one finger at the security camera on the wall above the door.

"You've been watching me?" Daniel didn't know whether to feel creeped out or…really creeped out.

"Yes, Daniel," Jack sniped, "I spend all of my free time on base watching you on video. Teal'c and me. With popcorn."

"Jack…"

Standing, Jack reached for the cat-cow-pig thing and turned it over and over in his hands, purposefully avoiding Daniel's anxious expression. "I get reports, Daniel. Reports from Frasier on the fitness of my team, and reports from the security desk on my team's movements. For instance," he checked the underside of the figure to see if there was a rubber stopper so that little alien kids could get their coins out, "did you know that Carter checked out at 19:20 last night, came back at 19:40, and then left again at 19:52? Wonder what gizmo she'd forgotten to turn off in her lab," he asked himself. "You, however," no stopper, which made sense as he couldn't find any slot for putting coins in the thing on the top, "haven't set foot off this base since you came in on Thursday at 06:10." He finally looked up and held the younger man's attention with his own fierce stare. "Today is Tuesday."

Daniel pursed his lips and blew out a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Jack, but," he looked around at the accumulation of artifacts, piles of photos of off-world inscriptions, and then to his computer screen where he could see another 42 emails in his inbox, "there just doesn't seem to be enough time. And please put that down," he muttered as an afterthought.

"Daniel, do you really think you're in any shape to go off-world this afternoon?" When the archaeologist's mouth opened in automatic response, Jack held up one finger. "Ah! Be honest – are you going to be alert, able to watch out for yourself and the other members of your team?" He stressed the last word to try to get Daniel to realize how important his position was.

"After the briefing I'll have time to catch a nap," he suddenly became aware of the feel of his stale BDUs, "and a shower." He put every effort into appearing awake and alert in the face of his utterly unconvinced commander. "Jack, I'm fine."

"Oh, don't even start," the colonel smirked. He launched the cat-cow-pig into the air over the desk and watched Daniel's sluggish reaction, throwing himself forward to try to catch the delicate figure before it smashed to pieces. Jack snatched it out of the air about three inches from the desk and six inches from Daniel's outstretched fingers. Leaning down to fix his dark gaze onto his teammate's stunned blue one, Jack whispered. "And if that had been Carter?"

Daniel blinked, trying to deny to Jack, and to himself, that it had been a fair test. "I probably couldn't catch Sam…"

"Daniel," Jack's growl was menacing.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he scooted his chair back to put some distance between himself and Jack's disturbing example, his arms tightly wound around his chest in a familiar pose. "You can't count on me. It's not like it's a new concept."

Jack's moan of frustration seemed to propel him from Daniel's desk to pace around the limited floor space available. "Daniel – you're stressed, trying to do too much. You've got to learn how to say 'no.'"

"To what?" Daniel's gesture took in all of the files and artifacts packed on every surface of the room. "To General Hammond's request for help with the language of the Hunvrai negotiations before the meeting tomorrow? Or should I ignore Major Fletcher's mission to the refugees of M4S-599, and the strange relics that they keep giving him? Dammit, Jack, it's not like I'm staying up late surfing the internet or watching old movies! This is important."

Col. Jack O'Neill stopped, hearing the edge of desperation in his young friend's voice. He doubted if Dr. Daniel Jackson had ever had any time for the kinds of leisure pursuits that kept the average guy busy at night. Two doctorates and a Masters degree before the age of twenty-five. Definitely nothing average about that. But Jack would bet his entire library of Simpson's tapes that nothing in all of Daniel's education had prepared the SGC's resident cultural geek for the kinds of responsibilities he'd gathered over the last four years.

"I know it's important, Daniel, but every new culture, every new language, can't be all your responsibility. You've got to prioritize, set up some kind of 'Archaeological Triage" with all of this stuff." Jack gestured widely at the large room that did not contain one surface that wasn't overflowing with artifacts and paperwork. "What about your staff? That Rothman guy you keep telling me is the next best thing to sliced bread?"

"He is good, Jack, so are Kandihir, and Frinnelli, and Anders, but…" Daniel took his responsibilities to his staff as seriously as Jack did his to his team. He suddenly clamped his mouth shut and lowered his head, knowing that Jack would misunderstand if he tried to explain.

"But, what?" It didn't take a genius to know that Daniel was holding back, and O'Neill prided himself on his own advanced degree: he had a doctorate in stubborn, pig-headed archaeologist, even though he didn't have a framed certificate to prove it. "But, what, Daniel? But they're not good enough? Not as good as you?"

"No!" The contradiction was spontaneous, filled with all of the exhaustion and frustration that had been building up for months. _Stop_, he told himself, closing his eyes firmly, _you don't understand. It isn't what I meant at all._

Jack narrowed his eyes. Huh. He hadn't expected this from Daniel. "Look, Dr. Jackson," his careful pronunciation of the name made the archaeologist flinch, "I don't care what you know, or how smart you are, as long as you're a member of SG-1, your readiness to get into the field to fulfill our current mission objective has got to be your highest priority." He punctuated his statement with one jabbing finger, his anger evident in every word and motion.

"It is," Daniel's murmured response was almost inaudible, "but I can't just…"

"Apparently not," Jack shot back, satisfied to see Daniel's head snap up, his gaze sharpening. Maybe he was getting through that dense brain matter of his, but the leader of SG-1 couldn't be sure. Verbal agreement with Jack's orders wasn't Daniel's problem; it was actually following through and carrying them out the way Jack intended where the young man tended to stray off the reservation. "You're scrubbed for this mission, Daniel," he finally announced.

Jack's statement brought Daniel to his feet in one swift movement, his desk chair rolling off behind him until it hit the wall with a thud. "What? You can't do that!"

"I can and I have," O'Neill crossed his arms, presenting a solid wall of decisive colonel to Daniel's disbelieving eyes. "I'll grab one of Reynolds' marines to be our fourth on this one, they're always ready," he snorted. _Born ready_, according to their CO.

"But, Jack! The UAV showed ruins of what looks like a temple structure..." he grabbed at the first argument he could think of to change Jack's mind.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to ignore me when I told you to make sure you eat and sleep properly before a mission!" Jack hoped this was the first and last time he'd have to go this far to make Daniel understand his own limitations.

He couldn't believe this was happening. It couldn't be happening. SG-1 was the only thing he had left now, didn't Jack realize that? "Jack," Daniel tried to steady his voice, "please. It will never happen again."

"Damn right it won't," Jack agreed gruffly. "In fact, after the briefing, which you are **not **attending," he held up one hand in front of his teammate's face, "I plan to talk to Hammond to make sure of that fact." The colonel steeled himself against the lost expression in Daniel's eyes. _Tough love time, Jack_, he muttered to himself. _He'll thank you later when he's __**alive**__. _"SG-1 is due back 48 hours from debarkation time. Until then I'm ordering you off the base, and before you ask, no, you can't take any work home with you."

"Jack."

"No arguments, Daniel, I'll see you in two days. Don't make me send a couple of SFs in here to escort you out."

Daniel stood perfectly still as Jack slammed his office door behind him. Maybe he was still asleep and it was all a dream. Jack couldn't have just described himself, Sam, Teal'c and one of Reynolds' marines as SG-1, could he? What did that make him? _Insignificant_, his inner doubts whispered. Even with three years of off-world missions to show for himself, Daniel knew he'd never manage to rise in the eyes of the military beyond his academic niche. He'd seen the smirks and heard the thinly veiled insults; those and his own criticisms of the Air Force mindset told him that the gulf between academia and the military was a wide one – perhaps one that he'd never successfully bridge. Especially now that he'd been removed from SG-1.

He knew he'd screwed up; he should have left the translations until after they'd returned from P7R-434, but he also knew that something else would have turned up by then to put him farther behind. Daniel crossed his arms and let his gaze travel over all of the files and requests for help that were scattered throughout his office. No. He didn't think of himself as smarter than Robert Rothman and the rest of the cultural support staff. He shook his head abruptly. But as their advisor – he refused to think of himself as more than a colleague with more experience, he was younger than most of them, and couldn't be their 'commander' as the military looked at things – he had a responsibility to his people. They were all amazingly bright, and their progress along the learning curve was remarkable, but it was still a _learning curve_, and he would always be ahead. Not because of anything inherent in himself, but because he'd been about it longer. An entire year living on Abydos among an alien culture. Another year at the SGC as the sole cultural consultant. Field experience that many of them would never have - if they were lucky. He couldn't refuse to help out when they asked.

Daniel rubbed his eyes again – they felt hot and dry from staring at brightly lit screens and trying to focus on tiny figures and drawings. Jack thought it was his pride that kept him from resting, that much was obvious from his reactions to Daniel's hesitant remarks about his staff. He didn't know that every time he closed his eyes he saw the innocent face of Sha're's son surrounded by ribbons of glowing light. The image was burned into his mind, and came with a flood of emotion – relief that the boy was safe, guilt that he couldn't be the one to protect him, and a deeper guilt at his relief that he wouldn't be reminded day after day that this child was not his. And then the 'what-ifs' surfaced, one after another. What if this had been his son? What if Sha're hadn't died to save him? What if he had been strong enough to win her back, or at least man enough to keep her from being abducted in the first place? He blinked rapidly, not sure if he had any tears left after the events of the past few months. She was gone. The child was gone. And Ska'ara – Ska'ara was back with his people – it was the only thought that kept Daniel from absolute despair. Maybe Jack was right to replace him. Maybe it was time to let go of SG-1 and step back among his colleagues into his academic niche. He turned, grabbed his coat from the closet and switched off the lights before carefully locking his office door.


	2. Changing Focus

Change of Focus

Daniel absentmindedly flipped his security card over and over in one hand as the elevator began its slow descent within Cheyenne Mountain. His eyes were fixed on the numbers scrolling across the small readout, but his sight was turned inward, oblivious to the two airmen exchanging nervous glances behind his back. It was…considerate…of the general to call him last night to let him know that SG-1 had returned safely from their off-world mission with no bumps, bruises, or even hangnails to show for it. Hammond had kindly let Daniel know that the team had breezed through their standard medical checks and were dismissed from the base for the evening so that Daniel didn't have to bother reporting to the mountain to check on them. A Major General in the Air Force passing along information like that was very…thoughtful…but it also spoke of deeper, weightier issues. _SG-1_ was back. The _team_ had been dismissed. As a linguist he could not help but notice the significance of the general's choice of words.

After his last confrontation with Jack, he'd barely made it home and into his bedroom before he'd dropped – waking up nearly eighteen hours later in the same green BDUs he'd been wearing for days. Stripping them off and leaving them on the floor, he'd stood under the shower until long after the water ran cold, imagining the complaints from his neighbors that were certainly piling up on the building manager's answering machine. Coffee fortified him long enough to seek out some real food from the local grocery store, making sure to strategically place a bag of fruit on the passenger seat so he could stifle the insistent hunger pains on the drive home. Dropping onto the couch a few hours later after seeing to the petty needs of utility companies, his cleaning service, and the automatic food dispenser on his aquarium, Daniel had to admit that he'd needed the break. Twenty minutes after that he began to fidget, wondering if it were permanent.

Jack had been angry. Well, that wasn't new; Jack not angry with him would be more unexpected. What worried Daniel wasn't the anger – he'd deserved it – it was the barely controlled disappointment that he'd seen in Jack's eyes. He didn't think Daniel took his role on SG-1 seriously. No, that wasn't it. Jack thought Daniel put his team behind his research, his off-world exploration second to his on-base studies. The life of the mind before the life of the body; the ethereal over the tangible. It was the same old song and dance that he'd been playing around the military since he first set foot in Colorado Springs and had his first encounter with Jack O'Neill, General West, and the U.S. Air Force: that one's focus could only be one or the other. The military mind could not seem to grasp that he could be equally committed to both. Any diversion from the behavior they saw in their recruits – and expected of him - was met with resentment, mockery, and bitterness. Follow orders, toe the line, listen to direction. Don't question, don't consider – that has already been done for you by people higher in the chain of command. They were right: in dangerous situations, following the orders of a commander was vital, and the 'clear chain of command' that Jack always spoke about was critical, but it was hypocritical of them to apply that thinking to every single situation that presented itself in the SGC.

In academia, questioning, considering, challenging theories and assumptions was expected, not ridiculed. A person's ideas were given weight, much more weight than his physical presence, because it was his ideas that defined him, that set him apart. And there were as many dangers inherent in the discipline of the mind as there were in the discipline of the body, but he'd never convince his military colleagues of that, he smiled to himself. The patience and stubbornness Daniel exhibited at the SGC were the results of his long academic focus, and were the "muscles" he brought to his field work as well. Painstaking attention to detail. Willingness to go over the same research again and again and again until he could find the right answer. These were his strengths, and he knew- _he knew_ that if he could bring them from the geeky side of town where they were appreciated to the violence riddled neighborhood of the front lines he just might do some good here.

It was up to him to reconcile the two areas of his life, and even more difficult, he had to convince Jack and General Hammond that he could do so. If there was one thing he'd learned from the military it was their insistence on the individual's commitment to the team, "one for all, all for one," and "no one gets left behind." When your life depended on the man or woman standing at your side, and not in a metaphorical, symbolic sort of way, but in a "they're going to shoot you in the head" sort of way, the philosophy made sense. And even though he'd been on his own since he was eight years old, Daniel embraced that philosophy with his entire being. In society, in academia, in the military, it was the bonds built between people that kept them sane and kept them safe. And Daniel had been the weak link in the SG-1 chain since the beginning by that very measure. Blame it on his childhood, blame it on his intelligence, blame it on his choices, whatever, it was Daniel who had to resolve his place within the two worlds he inhabited. Find his place. Define his role. Especially now when his roles of husband and father, or foster-father, had been irretrievably shattered and broken.

He opened his eyes to dispel the images those thoughts always brought along with them and looked around his quiet apartment. One more day. He only had one more day before he returned to the SGC. He had to be ready. So, while the latest Archaeological Journals sat tantalizingly on his desk, he changed into sweats and headed out, determined to find some balance between his research and his role on SG-1. He would not let them push him away.

During the five mile run he'd made his plans. Eat. Sleep. Study. Work out. Feed his brain. Feed his body. He couldn't be the little brother, the one everyone looked out for, the guy who had to be reminded to put on his shoes, for crying out loud, any more. He was young, he could still work long hours at his desk, cover his cultural staff, and take care of himself. He shook his head, sweat flying from the ends of his too-long hair. Other people managed to balance busy lifestyles – airmen at the SGC had families, kept themselves fit, and handled off-world missions. His mentor in Chicago, Dr. David Jordan, managed to keep up with his archaeological studies, raise three children, chair two departments, write a book, and advise one over-achieving and over-eager associate at the same time. Surely if he put his mind to it, Daniel could do the same. The frown deepened between his brows. At least he didn't have to worry about making time for family commitments.

Daniel blinked, his gaze reluctantly turning from his confidence of yesterday to focus on the reality of the upcoming meeting with Jack and General Hammond. He'd found the message from Jack on his voicemail last night when he'd finally remembered to charge his cell phone. Meeting. 07:30. Hammond's office. Don't be late. Thanks, Jack, don't bother to give me any hints about what I should expect, you and Hammond just blind-side me like usual. He glanced down at his watch. Traffic had been terrible, so he didn't have time to head to the locker room to change out of the jeans and sweater he'd put on this morning. Great. Just when he didn't want to draw any attention to the differences between Dr. Daniel Jackson and the military establishment around him. He rehearsed his points again, carrying on the inner dialogue he'd been imagining for the past two days between him and Jack, him and the general, reacting calmly to their expected statements, their presumed responses to his promises.

His feet must have taken their usual path through the control room, up the circular metal staircase and into the briefing room, but he couldn't exactly remember the trip, or who he might have passed on the way. 07:25. Good. At least he wasn't late. The door to Hammond's office was still closed, and Jack's broad shoulders covered in standard Air Force blue blocked Daniel's view through the glass, so he crossed to the observation window to wait, arms across his chest. The Stargate was dialing and SG-5 was waiting at the base of the ramp. His eyes opened wider in momentary surprise when he caught sight of the bearded figure adjusting the straps of his field pack next to Major Tissault. He'd been so wrapped up in his own problematic world that he'd forgotten that Robert was heading out for an extended survey of the ruins on P77-898 this morning. Shifting his weight to turn back towards the stairs, Daniel remembered that he wanted to repeat his warnings about the instability of the roof structure before Robert Rothman left, but before he could take a step, Hammond's office door was flung open and he froze. Jack and General Hammond were not alone.


	3. Unexpected

Unexpected

"Jack?" Daniel's well-rehearsed speeches had apparently run off and hid behind his mid-brain somewhere, where the synapses were firing so wildly that it was a wonder the sound wasn't deafening. So much for making a good impression on _Colonel_ O'Neill and _General_ Hammond – he could tell that his face was doing that 'deer-in-the-headlights' thing that made him look like he was still twelve years old. Clearing his throat, Daniel lowered his eyes and carefully placed the leather jacket he'd been clutching over the back of one of the black briefing room chairs before taking a step towards the three men at the end of the table.

"Um, I apologize that I haven't changed, General," Daniel began again, frowning, keeping his eyes fixed on the commander of the SGC, whose unexpectedly warm expression caused a chill to shiver down Daniel's body. "You wanted to see me?" His eyes flicked between Jack's bemused attitude and Hammond's face, barely acknowledging the existence of the third man, a few inches taller than O'Neill, who waited patiently in the background.

"Dr. Jackson, Colonel O'Neill has brought it to my attention that recently your duties on SG-1 have been preempted by your obligations to the cultural and diplomatic responsibilities of this command, and not for the first time."

"Yes, General, I know, and I'd like to…"

"I thought you'd be pleased to know that your contributions to the SGC and the time and effort you've spent getting the language and archaeological side of the Stargate up and running has not gone unnoticed."

"Thank you, General, but…" _Pleased_. Yep, he was certainly _pleased_ that Jack had taken him off of SG-1, that's for sure. He couldn't make his eyes do more than glance at the man standing behind Jack and the general. His replacement on SG-1, probably.

"In fact," now Hammond was smiling. "I've had Major Davis and the Pentagon working on this problem for months before we could agree on a candidate. As you must know, working on the Stargate program comes with a lot of rules and responsibilities – far more than are found in less critical endeavors."

_Months?_ Anger surged through Daniel's body, replacing the unnatural chill with white hot fury that he had to struggle to control. He couldn't help shooting a bitter glance at Jack. _You've been planning this for that long? Since when, exactly? Since Sha're's death? Or was it before then, when you locked me up in the padded room? _Jack frowned, seemingly confused by Daniel's reaction.

_What's going on in that head of yours, Daniel? _Jack shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his BDUs, trying to figure out the contradictory body language of the young man. He understood the uneasiness, the nerves – he'd been pretty brusque with Daniel the last time they spoke, and Jack knew he felt guilty about missing the last mission with SG-1 – and even though Daniel apologized more than any other single person Jack had ever met, Jack knew that he hated letting his teammates down, and felt his own failures deeply. What he hadn't expected was the rage he now saw behind the cool blue of Daniel's eyes. _It was my job to fix this, Daniel, don't you get it?_

"I'm sorry that it took us so long, son, but I think the results are going to be well worth it." General Hammond was unaware of the silent waves of emotion flowing between his two men. He turned to the figure behind him and nodded his head. "All I can say is that we got lucky."

Tearing his gaze from Jack's face, Daniel finally let himself see the other man. Tall, strongly built, thick grey hair atop a high lined forehead, his arms crossed loosely across his chest and a slight smile playing about his mouth. He was wearing a brown corduroy jacket and tan slacks. Wait – grey hair? Lines? The guy was years older than Jack. This was his replacement on SG-1?

The man stepped forward, extending one hand, a dark blue stone in a gold ring momentarily picking up the light from the open wormhole behind the glass. "My dear boy," his rich voice seemed to fill the empty room. "I have heard so much about you."

Daniel's innate diplomacy made him extend his own right hand in an echo of the man's gesture. He looked down at the smooth hand holding onto his and watched the man's other hand reach up to grasp Daniel's between his. "I'm sorry, I-I don't understand," Daniel stuttered, his tongue flicking out to try to spread some moisture around his suddenly dry mouth.

Laughing softly, the man squeezed Daniel's hand slightly before dropping his grip. "Of course you don't recognize me; no reason you should. But I knew your father."

_What?_ His confused gaze flicked between Jack's and the general's. "My father?"

"Dr. Jackson, this is Dr. Kendrick. I'm told by Major Davis that Dr. Kendrick is one of the foremost scholars in archaeology and anthropology today. I'm sure his expertise will be extremely beneficial to our little program here." General Hammond turned to Daniel as if he was bestowing a precious gift. "This should ease your workload tremendously, son, and, as soon as Dr. Kendrick is up to speed you can get some well-deserved rest and refocus your energies."

The name clicked Daniel's remaining brain cells into place. "Dr. _Donald_ Kendrick? Of Camstead University?"

The laugh lines around Kendrick's brown eyes seemed to be well earned as the man smiled once again. "Guilty as charged."

Daniel couldn't help a swift look through the window onto the empty ramp below. The wormhole had just disengaged, carrying SG-5 and his colleague Dr. Robert Rothman away to another world for the next week. A jolt of relief threatened to shake off the sudden mask of self-control that Daniel dropped over his face. At least Robert was well away from this debacle. He switched on his best diplomat's smile and shoved the antagonism and disbelief that flooded him back into the dark place where he tried to keep his emotions. He'd worked on shoring up the mental doors to that place over the past two days, knowing that his emotionalism often undercut any rational argument he tried to put forward to the military types. A hysterical guffaw bubbled up in his throat at the thought. God. He could not have been more wrong about Jack's intentions. This was…this was… He shook his head.

"Daniel?"

_Thanks, Jack, thanks so much. I don't know how to thank you. I don't know why to thank you._ His friend's voice had given Daniel what he needed to clamp his teeth shut against the laughter and focus on the unbelievable situation that was playing out in the familiar briefing room.

"I've read your work, Daniel," Kendrick moved in smoothly to try to cover the young man's obvious difficulty. "And General Hammond and Paul Davis have sent me some of your more recent findings. Amazing. Truly amazing." His smile was indulgent, as if he was a proud parent. "Well, the entire state of affairs is rather amazing, isn't it? Finding out what everyone took to be the ramblings of an undisciplined, over-indulged boy wonder were the clues to uncovering the mystery of traveling among the stars – how incredible!" He gestured widely with his arms, turning slightly as if to take in the Stargate, the mountain, and the entire universe.

"Amazing, that's the word all right," Daniel struggled to keep his voice steady. _And thanks for those memories._

Jack's eyes narrowed slightly at Kendrick's last speech, wishing that the guy hadn't opened up that old can of worms. Daniel's muttered reply almost brushed right past him. Whoa. There is something so going on behind those blue eyes, Danny-boy. I've seen that expression before. Usually right before you lose it.

"You are familiar with Dr. Kendrick's work, Dr. Jackson?" Hammond asked, trying to put his finger on the archaeologist's attitude.

Daniel's gaze never left Kendrick's. "Of course. Everyone in the academic community knows Dr. Kendrick's…reputation. He has been published widely-"

Before he could finish, O'Neill jumped in, trying all the buttons to get Daniel to respond in some semi-intelligible way. Right now it looked like he'd like to throw a punch at the guy. "Yeah, I'm sure. Never saw him in National Geographic, though. Now that little deal he did between the Bolivian government and those radicals holding a school full of kids hostage, that was impressive." Kendrick's law degree and consultant status with the Federal Government had contributed greatly to his acceptance by the Pentagon and the other political powers that be. This guy might not have the linguistic genius of their resident geek, but his experience in difficult negotiations, and his advanced degrees in Archaeology and Psychology, would surely help out around here.

"Why don't you show Dr. Kendrick around, Dr. Jackson. I need to talk to Colonel O'Neill about adjusting SG-1's off-world schedule to allow you time to bring him up to date on our current projects." Expecting compliance, Hammond turned and moved towards his office before either Jack or Daniel could object to this idea.

Eyeing Daniel's rigid stance, and Kendrick's affable smile, Jack placed one hand heavily on Daniel's shoulder and gave the young man a slight shake. "So, a friendly tour, Daniel?" He stressed the word 'friendly,' finally drawing Daniel's gaze away from the older man's face. "Take your time. Just remember we're meeting Teal'c and Carter for lunch at 12:30." He waved one finger in front of Daniel's cold stare. "Don't make me come and find you," he warned lightly.

Shrugging off Jack's hand, Daniel flashed him a blatantly false smile. "Oh, I'll be there," he responded sweetly.


	4. Control

Control

Intriguing. Just when he was beginning to think there were no more mountains to climb, no more goals to strive for, no more enticements for his intellect or challenges for his skills the Pentagon drops this into his lap. Donald Kendrick smiled to himself as he allowed them to woo him, to flatter and court his favor as so many others had in the past. Never show your eagerness; never let them see your interest. He had been met with few occasions where his own concrete self-control had allowed others to sense his excitement – his fervor - for an opportunity. Wait, observe, watch for an opening, the chance to manipulate your opponent's will, to convince him that your suggestions were his ideas in the first place, or vice versa. These were the skills they praised him for in his negotiations. It amazed him that they never realized those same skills were at work when the government representatives brought him a proposal as well.

He hadn't yet worked with the military directly; his contributions were made only through contact with civilian government agencies like the FBI or the CIA. He was certain, however, that finding the right buttons, the correct incentives, the magic words, if you will, would not be difficult, and would ultimately lead him to success. After all, if he could acquire what he needed in the heady waters of the academic community, he could surely feel his way through the limited resources of the military mind. When he had what he wanted, when he'd attained the highest standing within this newest and most intriguing military group and grew tired of the game they would beg him to stay. They always did.

After he'd signed the papers and they'd finally handed over the files, he wondered if his self-control had met its match. A device used to explore the galaxy. Alien megalomaniacs intending to enslave the human race. Parasites and monsters. Energy beings that existed on a superior plane of existence. Teams of explorers and adventurers who regularly set foot on alien worlds. He'd demanded more, more on the excavation and experimentation on the device itself, on the Stargate and those who first recognized its potential. He poured over the names of the scientists who had brought it from Egypt, experimented during the war, the foolhardy man, Littlefield, who volunteered to take the first journey. His smile widened as he remembered opening the large file marked 'Abydos,' and seeing the name for the first time: Dr. Daniel Jackson. It had awakened something in his mind, but the names and faces of so many students had come and gone over the years that Kendrick could put no more information with the name, no facts or memories, he just knew there was something there, in the back of his mind.

Hours later, after some tedious research, he found it. It had been years ago, after all, when his partner Dr. David Jordan had come to him to tell him he'd taken a position at the University of Chicago, and that many of their archaeology undergraduates were transferring with him. Kendrick remembered the pure hatred that had erupted within him, how he'd snatched the letter from Jordan's hand and spit out a long stream of curses and threats that caused students and office workers nearby to turn to listen for a moment before backing away awkwardly. That had been the last time he'd allowed his fury to overcome him in a public space, and he had worked day and night for some time thereafter to eliminate all record of the event from the University. Jordan had surprised him, and Kendrick didn't like surprises. Following Jordan's later career he'd been satisfied to see the man fall under the dust of the archaic university system, his achievements limited to periodic papers and unimportant digs, while Kendrick's own reputation grew exponentially.

Dr. Daniel Jackson. Jordan's new pet. By the time Jordan arrived in Chicago he'd already praised for his brilliant academic mind, his achievements at so young an age, it was Jackson who had earned Jordan whatever acclaim he received at the Chicago University. He remembered reading the boy wonder's two doctoral theses – two, by the time he was 25 – and knowing that Jordan had somehow managed to ally himself with the brightest archaeological mind in the western world. Envy seized him again, but now he could control it, use it, turn it from a liability into an asset as he made his plans. A few calls to colleagues gave him Jackson's past, his parents' various excavations, and his own odd passion for fringe theories about language development. When Kendrick received the grant he'd been waiting for he made sure that the invitation to collaborate on a new dig site in Giza went directly to Jackson's office in Chicago, not Jordan's, knowing that the young man would not be able to refuse. But before the departure date arrived, Jackson had committed academic suicide and dropped off the face of the map. His own plans for the boy would have been much more personally fulfilling, but the vicarious loss of standing for David Jordan and the Chicago University almost made up for it. Almost.

And now, standing here attempting to appear unconcerned in the unappealing office of the military commander of this underground base Kendrick knew that his self-control was due for its greatest challenge. Maintaining his facade of helpfulness and modesty, he studied the two men who could stand between him and his current objective. The general was eager; a man with too many responsibilities who was not equipped to deal with the threats and challenges that had been thrust upon him during this late stage of his career. He would not be the problem. The colonel – O'Neill – he could read the subtlety in his expression, the discipline behind the casual demeanor – Kendrick had seen that closed-off, watchful expression in the eyes of soldiers' before. This man looked for conspiracies and plots, for motivations and hidden agendas as naturally as Kendrick manipulated spirits. If he could throw this man off, keep him at a distance long enough, his plan would unfold perfectly. Another challenge. He knew the smile on his lips would be misinterpreted as enthusiasm for the task at hand, not the anticipation of the contest.

Standing back, behind the military men, Kendrick took a moment to observe. He had seen photos, standard shots used on credentials and identification, but in person the boy was…surprising. Stimulating. He projected an aura of intensity, of tightly-reined fervor, his startlingly blue eyes dancing with barely restrained emotion. There was a tension here, especially between O'Neill and the boy, some undercurrent of resentment or old anger. Good. He could use that. Stepping closer and reaching towards him, Kendrick felt the full force of that gaze, and witnessed some dawning revelation in the boy's eyes before Jackson recovered. Interesting. Surely Jordan did not speak about him – no, he was sure his ex-colleague would not have done so. Something else, then. He would have to work hard to keep the young genius too unbalanced to notice his own infiltration into Jackson's position here at the SGC. If Kendrick's goal to turn this opportunity into another feather in his cap, another line item on his resume, was to be reached, he would have to eliminate the obstacle this boy represented. Let's begin, he thought.

"…I knew your father."

A momentary confusion. Not nearly enough for Kendrick's purposes. He couldn't allow the boy a moment to gather his thoughts.

"…finding out what everyone took to be the ramblings of an undisciplined, over-indulged boy wonder were the clues to uncovering the mystery of traveling among the stars – how incredible!"

Kendrick watched the effect of his words on the boy, the clench of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. Yes, the self-doubt was still there, just beneath the surface. Apparently Jackson's few years working on this project had not helped him overcome what the jeers and rejection of his peers in the scientific community had caused. It was simple, really, to nudge someone's thinking onto a different pathway; after working with students for so long, all Kendrick really needed was a glimpse into the boy's psyche, a taste of his spirit and struggles. That, coupled with his knowledge of a typical military organization could be used to reduce Jackson's standing with the SGC, and thereby raise Kendrick higher, to the prominent position which he deserved.

He watched Jackson struggle to maintain his neutral expression when the colonel spoke with him briefly before he trailed off behind General Hammond and closed the door. The smile Jackson had flashed the military commander had been full of teeth - a shark's smile that had not reached his eyes. Kendrick brought his hands together with a resounding smack before rubbing them together as if in delight. The boy startled, frowning, his sharp gaze now directed at Kendrick.

"I realize you must have many responsibilities, my boy, but I hope you'll spare a few moments to help one old man find his way around this monstrosity of a complex."

Had Jackson's eyes narrowed momentarily before he nodded and gestured to the metal stairs behind him? Perhaps. He watched the young man walk quickly away before closing the distance between them, observing his body language, the set of his shoulders, and the abruptness of his gestures. Jackson began what sounded like a well-rehearsed spiel concerning the Stargate, the Goa'uld, and the clues they'd gleaned from studying Earth's own ancient cultures. Arriving in a small room dominated by a large window overlooking the alien device, the boy stood at the glass, behind a pair of men who were fiddling with computer controls. A small man sitting in the right hand chair did not bother to glance up.

"SG-5 has just embarked, Dr. Jackson. Next contact in 24 hours."

"Thanks, sergeant," Jackson muttered. "Anyone due back?"

"No, sir, barring emergencies, the next team due back is SG-8 tomorrow at 11:00."

_Sir?_ That was interesting. An unconscious acknowledgement of Jackson as something more than a tolerated civilian? Some respect?

"I'm sorry, Dr. Kendrick," Jackson did not take his eyes off of the Stargate as he spoke, his tone not at all apologetic, in fact, Kendrick thought he detected a sense of satisfaction, "if we'd been a few minutes earlier you could have seen the opening of the wormhole. I usually try to time my tours for new personnel a little better."

Kendrick could hear the edge to the man's voice, the slight emphasis on the words _new personnel_. Putting me in my place? The thrill of the game widened Kendrick's smile. He put his left arm across Jackson's shoulders, brushing his fingers along the back of the young man's neck as he did so, enjoying the immediate stiffening of his posture. Grasping Jackson's shoulder firmly in a fatherly way, and pulling him close, Kendrick chuckled, "Don't worry, my boy, I'm far more interested in the research General Hammond has requested my help with than in flashing lights and alien gizmos. I'm sure I'll see it eventually." He dropped his arm before the young man could twitch out from under it. "Now, where is this office of yours?"


	5. Misunderstanding

Misunderstanding

"…so just when I think I've got him figured out, the little snot goes all distant and snooty and …" Jack had been pacing around Carter's lab, alternately watching her fiddle with the new gadget the SG-3 marines had retrieved from their latest off-world junket and annoying her by shuffling the various reports strewn over her workspace all the while venting about the ingratitude of one stubborn archaeologist when the sound of her indrawn breath followed by the solid thunk of the gadget hitting the metal counter interrupted him.

"You did _what_?"

"Carter?" He turned and was confronted by the second ice-cold blue stare he'd been on the receiving end of that morning. What the heck was going on with his team? Had someone dropped him into one of those ridiculous alternate realities when he wasn't looking?

"Sir, tell me you didn't just hire an archaeologist to replace Daniel?" She practically spit the words out at her commanding officer.

"No! Of course not. That's the point, Carter; Daniel needs to be in the field with SG-1, not bogged down with all this translation and negotiation stuff." His eyes seemed to be equating Daniel's 'stuff' with the various experiments Sam was working on herself. "The other teams are driving him crazy with requests for help – he's been clamoring for more staff for months now, I just made sure General Hammond gave him what he asked for."

Samantha Carter closed her eyes and bit back the response that would have earned an insubordination charge from any other CO. Could Col. O'Neill really have no idea what he had done? Recalling some of the cement-headed idiots she'd had to deal with up and down the chain of command during her research in Washington, she let out a heavy sigh. The military and the scientist – sometimes she thought the communication gap between the two was wider and deeper than the one between men and women. If men were from Mars and women were from Venus, then the military mindset originated somewhere in the neighborhood of Pluto, a nice, dense planetoid, while scientists and academics were flying their ship closer and closer to the sun with no thought for their own survival. Thank God her own military upbringing had taught her enough to survive in both worlds, and the fact that her father was a General didn't exactly hurt, either.

"Sir – what did Daniel 'clamor' for, precisely?"

"I told you, Carter, he kept yammering about how there weren't enough hours in the day to devote enough time to all of the crap that kept coming across his desk. You've heard him yourself, and seen him barely pass the pre-mission medical exam more than once because of exhaustion." Jack rubbed one hand across the back of his neck. He had not expected this, any of this, today. The hostility from Daniel, the antagonism he felt coming from Carter. Hey, this was supposed to fix the problem, make everybody happy. Yeah, that was going well.

Sam shook her head. "No, sir. I've heard him describe some of the amazing finds his staff was working on, and how he wished the military would devote more resources to investigating particularly significant planets – culturally significant, sir," she clarified when she noticed O'Neill's eyebrows crawling upwards. "He's also spoken to me about the responsibility he feels to General Hammond and the Air Force to process every request to his staff, and the frustration he suffers when he doesn't think they are asking the right questions. Do you see the difference, sir?"

"Difference? There is no difference, Carter; Daniel seems to think the whole SGC will fall down around our ears if he doesn't personally investigate every rock under every tree from every off-world mission." Jack remembered the way Daniel had barely stopped himself from admitting that he thought he was the smartest guy on the base.

Sam's eyes opened wide in disbelief as she sank back onto her stool. Rubbing her hands along her thighs she attempted to carefully rein in her tumbling thoughts, but her mouth opened before the job was done. "I see. So Daniel is too proud, too egotistical, to see his own limitations, so you and General Hammond felt the only way to fix the problem was to blindside him." She couldn't help it. She didn't make any effort to cover the sarcasm, maybe it would finally get through to him. "Yes. Those are the first two words I'd definitely use to describe Daniel, sir, 'proud' and 'egotistical.' Why don't you throw in arrogant and conceited as well?" She noted the confusion and annoyance that battled across Jack's features, hoping that she hadn't just dynamited his faith in her – and her career.

Jack checked his automated military response and snapped his mouth closed over a scathing retort. Settling both elbows on Carter's workbench, he leaned forward, dark gaze locked onto hers and pinning her to her seat. "Okay, Major, maybe you should explain it to me. Use small words," he sneered, "you know how confused I get when you scientist types open your mouths."

"Sir – " She nearly choked on the irony of the colonel's last statement. "You know Daniel better than anyone else on this base. Can you honestly say that he thinks so highly of himself that he wouldn't trust the work of anyone on his staff, a staff that he put together? That doesn't sound like the Daniel I know, sir." Watching the words sink in past Jack's irritation, she hurried on. "What usually gets Daniel into trouble is that he doesn't think about himself – his safety or his worth – and he is too anxious to sacrifice himself rather than see someone else hurt. All I'm saying, Colonel," she put both hands on the workbench and met her CO's stare with one of her own, "is that maybe you misunderstood."

Snapping back upright, Jack turned to continue his irritated pacing. "Okay, maybe I did and maybe I didn't, Carter," his brain was doing those annoying flips and twists that could only be induced by the prattling of one of his 'wonder twins,' "but Kendrick has the background and reputation to really help out around here. Lots of letters after his name, status in the political and academic communities, his contributions just on this planet are fairly spectacular already. If Daniel is as self-less as you describe him, shouldn't he be happy that Kendrick has signed onto the program?" He stopped and leaned back against a table, crossing his arms over his chest. "And doesn't that make the attitude Mr. Self-Sacrifice was giving me downstairs sound a lot like jealousy?"

Carter also stood and picked up tool that had rolled to the edge of the table. "I don't know, sir," she replied, quiet but determined. "But if you ever decide that I need 'help' in the lab, I hope you'll discuss it with me before you and General Hammond interview Stephen Hawking for the position."

"I did discuss it with Daniel, Major," Jack's irritation was back, rewinding the last conversation the two had in the archaeologist's lab. Hadn't Daniel asked for his help? Wasn't that part of Jack's job, to make sure his team had everything they needed?

"Did you, sir? Because it seems to me as if you dismissed him and sent him home as if he was a little boy who'd broken a neighbor's window and now his father had to clean it up."

Jack's hard eyes narrowed menacingly. "Pushing it, Major," he growled.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Knowing that her point was made, Sam was eager to step back from the edge of this particular cliff with her CO. This was one issue that Jack and Daniel had to work out between themselves. As long as Daniel allowed the colonel to treat him like an eager, clumsy puppy – someone who needed protecting – rather than a strong team asset, the tension would only grow. But before he could convince Jack, Daniel had to actually believe it was true himself.


	6. Undercurrents

Who's Crazy?

Eating alone. Not what he had in mind. What the heck was going on today? First Daniel, then Carter. Jack thought at least Teal'c would meet him for lunch at the appointed time, but here he was, making railroad tracks through his mashed potatoes at a table all alone, Carter's words echoing through his skull. Like he'd ever trade his sharp-shooting blonde astrophysicist for some other egghead, even if he did have a cool motorized wheelchair. He shook his head and dropped his fork with a clang. The brains were ganging up on him. No fair. Where the heck was Teal'c?

"O'Neill."

"Teal'c!" Jack nearly leapt out of his chair in relief, startling a raised eyebrow out of the stoic Jaffa. "Where've you been?"

Sliding his tray of food onto the table next to the colonel's, Teal'c swept his glance around the commissary, causing the staring airmen to concentrate more fully on the meals in front of them. "I apologize for my lateness, O'Neill, but Major Weems asked for my recommendations concerning hand-to-hand combat training for new SGC personnel. I have only just left him." He slid a napkin from his tray onto his lap and began working his way methodically through what looked like three chicken breasts, two heads of lettuce, and half a watermelon. "Are Major Carter and Daniel Jackson not joining us?"

Jack returned to his artistic endeavors with his food. "Yeah, that's a good question," he began ruefully. He felt Teal'c's silent gaze pointed in his direction but didn't bother turning his head. "Apparently, I've done something stupid." The continued silence from the large man seated beside him spoke volumes. Jack shifted in his chair to meet the Jaffa's eyes. "What?"

Teal'c had not been looking at Jack after all – his gaze was focused over Jack's head. Twisting around the other way, Jack saw a group of people, equal parts military and civilian, crowded around the commissary entrance and moving in their direction. One deep voice dominated the chatter, and Jack could just make out Kendrick's grey head above most of the others gathered around him. Apparently something he said was funny, because the airmen and civvies clustering around suddenly erupted with laughter. As the crowd parted momentarily, he noticed that the new SGC consultant had one hand on the shoulder of a very brittle-looking Daniel Jackson. Brittle as in at the breaking point. Uh-oh. If he hadn't been looking right then, Jack would have missed it – Daniel twisted just a fraction, almost casually, as if to speak to someone behind him, causing Kendrick's hand to drop off his shoulder and behind his back. Jack placed his hands on the table in front of him to give himself room to stand, but, before he could complete the move he felt a large hand on his arm.

Still staring at the crowd, Jack could see that look in Teal'c's eyes – the half-lidded stare that usually meant the big guy was considering whether or not an opponent was worthy enough to kill. "O'Neill. Who is the man with Daniel Jackson?" he asked in that rumbling, almost a whisper, voice.

"New blood, T. Another smarty-pants to help Daniel out with negotiations and ancient cultures and whatnot. Dr. Donald Kendrick." Jack looked down at the dark hand gripping his arm. "Ah, big guy, you wanna let me go? I thought I'd invite Daniel and his new buddy to eat with us."

The Jaffa's grip remained constant. "I do not believe that Daniel Jackson considers this man to be his 'new buddy,' O'Neill."

Jack turned his attention back to the group which was now breaking up into twos and threes to join the chow line, sit, or leave the commissary. "Yeah, I'm getting that," Jack muttered. Two sets of dark eyes followed Daniel's progress towards the food, Kendrick never more than a pace or two behind him. Both intent on the interaction between the two men, neither noticed the slim woman standing next to the table until she spoke.

"So that's him?"

"Hey, Carter, I thought you stood us up," Jack quipped lightly, relieved to find that Teal'c had removed his hand before his 2IC showed up. Being caught holding hands with Teal'c might just be the perfect ending to this day's nightmare. After another moment of silence, Jack looked up to see Carter standing there, arms crossed, staring with an expression not unlike Teal'c's. _Okay, something is not right here. What did Carter and Teal'c know that he didn't?_

Daniel had picked up his tray and begun to walk towards the rest of SG-1 when Kendrick tugged on his elbow and leaned down to speak into the young man's ear. Jack watched as Daniel's eyes narrowed before he nodded once and proceeded to the table, carefully placing his tray down opposite Jack's. Kendrick hadn't come with him.

"Daniel?" Carter moved quickly to her usual place at Daniel's side, pulling out the chair and folding her long legs under the table.

"Sam." Daniel forced himself to peel his clenched fingers from the sides of the tray and take his seat, keeping his head down to avoid looking at Jack's face across the table. He took one bite of the baked chicken and chewed slowly, his stomach churning.

"So…?" Jack began. When Daniel didn't raise his head, he blew out a breath in exasperation. "Come on, Daniel, you're acting like you just lost your best friend. Can you say 'over-reacting?'?"

Taking a deep breath, Daniel raised his head to meet Jack's gaze, his mouth quirking up on one side in disbelief at Jack's wording. Words were his specialty. _Freudian slip, Jack?_

"I see Dr. Kendrick is settling in," Sam observed tightly, watching as the large man was warmly welcomed at a table of younger officers.

"Yep," Daniel answered shortly, "he's already memorized half of the civilian staff's names. I think he's given out some autographs, too."

Sam snorted softly and rubbed one hand along Daniel's arm before walking off to get her own lunch. Jack watched the exchange warily. Clearly, according to the other side of the table the score was Science geeks, 1; Colonel, 0.

"What did you want to talk about, Jack," Daniel asked finally, radiating fatigue. "I mean, General Hammond has already sent me a memo about our off-world missions being on hold for a week for Dr. Kendrick's…orientation."

"Well, Daniel," Jack sniped, "since you asked so nicely, I thought we'd go over the training schedule for next week." He tapped one finger on the clipboard that was peeking out from under his tray. "I mean, if that's all right with you."

Daniel swallowed and closed his eyes momentarily. He knew he was playing with fire; he couldn't afford to antagonize Jack – if they would take away his lead research role, his place on SG-1 was probably next. But after the past few hours with Kendrick, putting up with his damned superior attitude and the constant reminders of his professional standing, his little digs at Daniel's youth, his lack of experience, and his methodology, Daniel was having trouble with those mental doors he'd been working on. "Sorry," he sighed and began picking at his lunch again.

"I have training scheduled with Majors Weems and Feretti this afternoon at 15:30, O'Neill, and again in three days." Teal'c's expression had never changed; he still eyed Kendrick with a mixture of suspicion and hostility while he shoveled his food into his mouth.

"Yeah, I got that, Teal'c, but we're all scheduled for the firing range Monday morning, 09:00," O'Neill insisted as Carter slid into her seat, munching on an apple. He flipped through his papers, still unsettled by the atmosphere at the table. "Carter, your hand-to-hand with Staff Sergeant Chambers?"

She groaned and rubbed absently at her left hip. "He's worse than you are, sir," she complained. "I'm still sore from last week."

"That's why I suggested him, Major," the colonel's eyes twinkled. "He doesn't know the meaning of the word, 'mercy.'"

"Probably doesn't know the meaning of a lot of words, Jack," Daniel muttered, picturing the large, no-necked marine.

That's more like it, Jack thought. The words still had too much edge to them, but at least the archaeologist's self-pity hadn't deadened his sense of humor. _Concentrate on the goal here – field team, remember?_ Jack pushed his tray forward slightly so he could rest his arms on the table in front of him. "I got a report from Lt. Hepburn about your hand-to-hand training, Daniel. Care to guess what it said?"

Daniel refused to be baited. He knew if he opened his mouth now, everything would come out. He contented himself with a shrug.

"He said you put him down eight times last week. In fact," Jack didn't need to refer to the memo from the hand-to-hand specialist for this one, he'd memorized it, "he said that you were 'annoyingly hard to pin,' but that he had to remind you to keep your head in the game 'a lot.' That your attention 'wandered.'" Colonel O'Neill smiled grimly. "You know what that means, don't you, Danny-boy?"

Daniel stifled a groan, keeping his gaze steady.

"You win an all expenses paid trip to the gym…with me… today. And, believe me, if your mind wanders it won't be the only thing." Jack was surprised by the sudden flash of aggression in Daniel's expression. _Mad at me, Danny-boy? Okay, now we're getting somewhere._

"And another thing," Jack added quickly. "It's Friday. That means weekend. Pizza and beer at my place tonight, 20:00. Two days off." He pointed one finger at Carter across the table. "Off base, out of the lab, into the fuzzy bunny slippers, Major. Daniel," avoiding the physicist's blue glare he turned back to the young man, but stopped short when he noticed Kendrick had arrived unnoticed beside them. That was twice during one lunch hour someone had managed to sneak up on him. The stiffening of Daniel's posture told him he'd noticed the man, too, even if his gaze remained glued to Jack's.

"I am so sorry to interrupt, Colonel O'Neill," Dr. Kendrick apologized, "but I was wondering if you're finished with young Daniel for the moment." He smiled warmly. "I've just had a bit of an idea about those artifacts the people on M4S-599 keep giving to Major Fletcher. I'd like to run it by your resident expert," he continued, laughing slightly, one hand coming to rest on the back of Daniel's chair.

Leaning back in his own chair, Jack made a 'go ahead' gesture with one hand. "He's all yours, doc," he replied. "But he's got a date with me in the gym at 14:30. And if he's late, he probably won't be coming back until he's gotten cleared by the infirmary."

Suddenly, Teal'c rose from his chair, towering over his seated teammates, to stand eye-to-eye with Donald Kendrick. "I shall make sure that Daniel Jackson keeps his appointment, O'Neill." The words may have been directed to Jack, but it didn't take a linguistics expert to realize that he was sending some kind of message to Kendrick. The Jaffa turned to exchange a glance with Daniel before bowing his head slightly and moving off, his empty tray in his hands.

Daniel and Sam stood together, Daniel granting her a small smile before heading out the door with Kendrick.

Carter looked down at O'Neill.

"What?" he demanded. _Was everyone crazy today?_


	7. Undermining

Undermining

Daniel twisted his head back and forth to try to reduce the tension in his neck and shoulders. His gaze fell on the man sitting at his desk. For the past forty-five minutes Kendrick had been scrutinizing the notes Daniel had made on the natives of M4S-599 and fingering one of the small clay figures that Major Fletcher had given him. Leaning against a table as far from Kendrick as his cluttered office allowed, Daniel was torn between his foreboding about the man's presence, and the lure of the mystery surrounding the alien people. Something about the odd figure tugged at his memory – he'd been methodically checking his reference books relating to island cultures of the Pacific, as the humans on 599 seemed to have had a similar development, but he knew he hadn't found the connection he needed. Yet. Fletcher and his team were distributing more food and water to the people displaced by the volcano's activity near their villages this weekend. They were scheduled to begin moving the villagers to cave systems about twelve miles away from the Stargate on Monday, after their next check-in. That left only the weekend for Daniel to try to dig out the reason for the warning bells that were going off in the back of his mind – warning bells that he'd learned not to ignore over the past few years. Of course, that wasn't the only cause of his uneasiness.

_This wasn't right – none of it was right, _Daniel threw his pen down on the table and brought his hands up to his face, leaning forward on his elbows. If the powers that be within the government were looking for someone to replace him, it was no surprise they'd picked Kendrick – he was about as high profile as they come. But, why would Kendrick agree to the post? Dr. Donald Kendrick, a man with a pop culture status, not to mention a few best-selling books going for him, had agreed to work on a Top Secret project that might never see the light of day. It didn't make any sense. Daniel knew this man, knew his academic record and just how he earned it, and knew he'd never be content working quietly in the background. Yet, he seemed genuinely eager, sucking up every word that Daniel said, every report, every theory he'd offered about alien cultures or languages. But the man's condescending attitude, always referring to Daniel as 'dear boy' or 'young man,' his little slips of the tongue and continued amusement at Daniel's past in the academic community – plus, Daniel swore, if the guy touched him again he was going to use those hand-to-hand skills Jack had criticized to do something that would definitely get him kicked out of the SGC for good. The seething anger that had taken root in his gut this morning in the briefing room when his expectations had been completely blown apart grew hotter with every passing moment. He couldn't concentrate - it felt like he couldn't get his balance. Even here, in his office – his sanctuary from all things military – everything was…_off_.

Two swift knocks on the half-open door announced the arrival of Dr. Jennifer Anders, the newest addition to the SGC Research Staff. Daniel looked up, and watched her enter his office, head down, eyes glued to the photographs in her hands as she hurried towards his desk, making her way around the scattered obstacles in her path as if she were on autopilot. He shifted his hand to brace himself against the table he'd been slouching against, and straightened to an upright position, ready to get his mind off of his troubled thoughts and onto whatever mystery she'd brought him. Good. Concentrate on work. A mystery was just what he needed to shake the cobwebs out of his mind.

"Dr. Jackson, I was wondering if you'd mind taking look at these carvings. I'm sorry to interru…" Anders stopped dead, noticing for the first time that the man seated at the familiar desk was not the person she expected. "Oh. Sorry," she muttered, glancing around the room until her eyes lit on Daniel's figure at the other end. A frown worried her forehead as she looked down, her sharp mind analyzing the shortest distance to her target through the piles of artifacts. Sufficiently confident that she'd plotted the correct course, the dark-haired woman started to move forward, but was halted by a firm hand on her elbow.

"I don't believe we've met, my dear," Kendrick smiled as the perplexed scientist's gaze moved from her own arm to Kendrick's hand, up his arm and onto his face. "Dr. Donald Kendrick. I've come to lend a hand around here."

"Uh, uh," Anders quickly looked between the two men, noticing a strange expression on Jackson's face. "Dr. Jennifer Anders," she finally introduced herself when Daniel remained silent and still. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I just wanted Dr. Jackson to…"

Kendrick let go of her arm and gently took the photographs from her hand. "Why don't you let me take a look at them, Jennifer," he suggested, spreading them out on Daniel's desk and beaming at the young woman in a fatherly way, "I've often found that a fresh set of eyes can pick up small tidbits that…hastier ones might have missed. Now, can you tell me a little about where these came from?"

Daniel's heart was beating hard in his chest. He should say something. Insist that Kendrick butt out. Tell Dr. Anders to bring the photographs to him. This was his office, his staff, his work, dammit. But this was what Hammond wanted – what Jack wanted – what they hired Kendrick to do. And acting like a whiny child demanding his favorite toy was not going to communicate his competence to anyone. That didn't leave many options. Daniel could feel Anders' confusion, and watched her frown deepen as she continued to glance between the two men. He couldn't make this into some kind of public tug of war or he'd lose any credibility he had managed to hang onto. He knew the smile he offered her was a thin one, so he turned away, back to the text on the ancient tribes of Papua New Guinea. But his eyes swept across the pages without taking in a single word as he listened.

"Well…I've been working on the translation of the mosaic from Orban that Dr. Jackson found, and a few of the passages…"

"Refresh my memory, dear," he heard Kendrick interrupt gently, "Orban was the world where…"

"…where Dr. Jackson found the connection to **Teotihuacan, and the influence of the Olmec culture…"**

"**Of course, yes," the warm chuckle set Daniel's teeth to clench painfully, "you'll have to forgive me my dear, but it does take a man of my years a few minutes to switch gears." He heard the scrape of the photographs against each other, but kept his head down. "I see, and what is your question?"**

**He could hear the hesitation in Anders' voice. "This, ah, symbol here is repeated," the papers were shuffled again, "here, and, ah, here. But each time it is in a slightly different form."**

**Silence. Daniel's hands itched to go over and take the papers from under Kendrick's nose.**

"**Daniel?"**

**Kendrick's voice startled him. He turned slowly to blink at the two figures.**

"**Now, don't you think you've been sulking long enough?" The glitter in the Kendrick's eye was cold and sharp, his words chosen carefully to undercut any loyalty Anders might have had to her colleague. And, checking the young man's reaction, Kendrick knew that Daniel knew exactly what he was doing – and it made the situation just that much more stimulating. "Why don't you come over and we'll put our heads together on this little problem that Jennifer has brought us."**

**Kendrick's smile held a semblance of warmth, but Daniel knew the man had gained the upper hand again. Effortlessly. If Daniel remained where he was, he was being a stubborn child – if he surrendered and joined the two scientists, he was putting himself under Kendrick's authority in his colleague's eyes. He noticed that Kendrick had turned Anders to stand alongside him, facing Daniel, his body language turning any possible collaboration into a confrontation: us against him. His muscles taut, Daniel began to take one step forward when he was abruptly halted.**

"**I am sorry, Dr. Anders," the rumbling voice from the office doorway was the first hint of Teal'c's presence, "but SG-1 requires Dr. Jackson's presence in the gym." The large man stood, hands behind his back, to all appearances only the bearer of a message for his teammate, but Daniel felt the sudden charge in the atmosphere. Teal'c addressed his words to Jennifer Anders, but his dark eyes were focused on Kendrick's face and Daniel wondered just how long his friend had been standing there. Without a glance behind him, Daniel moved towards the door, catching Teal'c's eye momentarily in silent thanks as he slipped past him and into the hallway. Teal'c merely stood, his presence speaking for him as he dismissed Kendrick with the slight raise of one eyebrow, before bowing his head to Dr. Anders and following his teammate.**

**After promising the young woman that he'd coordinate with Dr. Jackson on the Olmec-derived language she had been studying, Kendrick courteously ushered her out of the lab and closed the door. He knew next to nothing about the cultures that built the ancient city of Teotihuacan, and his inability to translate even the most basic words and phrases would have been evident almost immediately. This kind of work was beneath a man of his stature, anyway, kneeling in dusty tunnels beneath stuffy tombs, sifting through miles of inscriptions for a clue to an alien language – those activities might thrill the pedantic mind of Daniel Jackson, but Kendrick was more interested in the bigger picture.**

**Kendrick moved restlessly around Jackson's lab, checking tagged artifacts, shuffling through files. It was high profile work such as the negotiation with the alien culture, the **Hunvrai, which offered a better chance for developing his name within this command structure, and to get to those missions he had some work to do. He'd already made great strides into undermining young Jackson's standing with the military, but he knew what kinds of loyalty were built within the academic framework of a research department, especially here, where the men and women looked to Jackson as some sort of young god who had single-handedly opened the Stargate and continued to throw himself into the front lines against a terrible enemy. That kind of hero worship would be difficult to discourage, but Kendrick had faith in himself. Find the weak point. Open rifts between Jackson and his colleagues and then fill them himself. He needed to learn as much as he could about the current missions, the immediate requirements, and then find the proper way to snatch them from the boy's hands. Kendrick's movements finally brought him to the table where Jackson had been standing and he glanced down at the book that lay open there. Primitive Island cultures. Volcano rituals. He noticed a few papers under the book and pulled them out, while carefully noting the page Jackson had been scanning before he left. The pages contained a few drawings of the figures from M4S-599, with notes scrawled into the margins in Jackson's precise hand. "Ritual death?" "Appeasing the gods." "Connection to the aborigines' substitutionary sacrifice to the volcano Tinakula?" Kendrick smiled. It seemed the boy had figured out the meaning of those clay figures after all. How very helpful.


	8. Projection

Projection

He stood at the edge of the mat shaking out each arm and leg in preparation, watching Jack standing perfectly calm on the other side, casually joking with Colonel Reynolds of SG-3. His bare feet were cold against the floor, but he knew that was the least of his worries. Casual, relaxed Jack was about to wipe the floor with him all in the name of preparing him for the field. No pads, no helmets – no, Jack only used those when he sparred with Teal'c - the only rule in this fight was no contact with the head. It was just too easy to crack a jaw, or a cheekbone, hit just a little too hard or at the wrong angle. Wouldn't want to damage anything permanently, just train the body to respond automatically when presented with a threat. _Right._ That was why the gym always happened to be so full on the days that the ex-Special Ops Colonel fought with his team geek.

What was it about the usually cordial airmen and soldiers that seemed to cry out for his humiliation at the hands of their fearless leader? He glanced at the gatherings of twos and threes around the edges of his field of vision. Blinking, he felt the uncomfortable contact lenses swimming in his eyes. He wore them when he had to, but the allergies that had plagued him since childhood made them unworkable for everyday use. Daniel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Focus. Nothing mattered right now except for him and Jack, the shift of muscle and the anticipation of movement. He had to stop thinking, just for a moment, and remember the balance he had determined to strive for yesterday. Bar those mental doors, for once – emotion was not his friend on the mat.

Major Samantha Carter had just finished her own workout and stepped next to Teal'c, still breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from her forehead with the towel she draped around her neck. She knew that Teal'c felt the same sense of strangeness, the same disconnect with the team as she did, leading each of them, independently, to arrange to be present for Jack's hand-to-hand with Daniel this afternoon. Usually she would be confident that Jack's approach to Daniel's workout would be firm but friendly – he knew exactly what the diplomatic scholar needed to sharpen his skills and toughen his body. But not today. Today she was worried. Her own thoughts about her CO today were laced with anger at his apparent inability to see how he'd betrayed Daniel's trust; she could only imagine what Daniel himself was feeling. She squeezed the ends of the towel between her hands, hoping that Daniel could do a better job controlling his emotions today than she had. His wide blue eyes did not look her way, but she could see that the colonel was surprised by the number of people hanging around the gym, and had a moment of relief when his own concerned gaze shifted to the youngest member of SG-1.

Jack made one more comment to Reynolds over his shoulder and moved out on the mat, nodding to Daniel to do the same. The sudden drop in conversational level in the room registered, and he wondered again if he'd made a mistake talking about Daniel's training so openly in the commissary today. Daniel didn't need an audience for this. He knew Teal'c and Carter had stationed themselves behind him, within Daniel's line of sight, as some kind of show of solidarity. But there had been an absence of the usual teasing banter he'd come to expect – no taunts about his age, or his knees, or pleas to be put in Daniel's will before it was too late. _Crap._ Jack strode towards his teammate to see if he could diffuse the tense mood, but Daniel shuffled sideways, quickly, as if expecting an attack. _What the heck?_

Jack felt himself dropping into a defensive posture, and moving to circle to his right even as Daniel shifted to his. "Okay," he began, watching Daniel's body position and footwork, "remember your primary goal in any hand-to-hand situation with an enemy."

"Survive long enough for my team to arrive with guns and shoot him," Daniel muttered, the sarcastic response coming to his lips automatically as he kept his attention on Jack's chest. Movement of the chest – not the hands, or the legs – broadcast an opponent's intentions. He kept his left leg back, presenting his side to Jack, keeping most of his weight on his back foot as he moved.

"Right," Jack saw that Daniel was moving well, balanced, his hands out slightly. "And the best way to win a fight?" He feinted to Daniel's left as he finished the question, but the younger man didn't fall for it and easily brushed Jack's right cross away with an outward block.

"Hit hard and fast and run away." Daniel wondered if Jack had ever run away in his life, or if these rules were only for pacifistic archaeologists.

Closing suddenly before Daniel finished his sentence, Jack stepped his right foot to the outside of Daniel's right, grabbed both his upper arms and pulled. Before Jack could trip him over his right shin, Daniel stepped in even tighter under Jack's hold, his right arm going around Jack's waist and, pivoting, swept Jack over his right hip and onto the mat, dancing backwards before Jack could lash out with his feet. Jack bounced up quickly, a smile across his face.

"Nice move, Danny, but we're not dancing here, go in for the kill." The kid was paying attention in hand-to-hand. Good. _But let's see if we can get some of that pent up aggression out,_ Jack thought. His lazy, circular punch to Daniel's right side was blocked, but the second kick caught Daniel on his hip as he turned away from it.

Sam winced as Jack's heel made contact with Daniel's hip. That must have hurt. She felt Teal'c shift slightly next to her as if in sympathy as they watched Daniel limp backwards a few steps. At least Jack gave him a few seconds before attacking again.

Much quicker this time, Jack hooked his right ankle behind Daniel's right knee, forcing his opponent's shoulders backwards with both hands, but Daniel rolled with the movement, falling onto his back, bringing his right knee up into Jack's chest to flip him over his head to land heavily on the mat behind him. Maybe he wasn't hurt that badly after all, Jack thought, as he scrambled back onto his feet.

"Nice one, Jackson, throw him on his ass," Colonel Reynolds' encouragement barely registered as Daniel moved, his eyes never leaving Jack. Pressing his attack, he tried to sweep Jack's feet before he had his balance, but Jack shot out his right hand and caught Daniel's wrist, turning behind the younger man and pushing back against his elbow. Daniel grunted and staggered forward, forcing Jack to either release him or come with him to keep his hold. When he felt Jack right behind him, Daniel stopped abruptly and stamped his heel down on the top of Jack's foot.

A sudden cry of delight rang through the gym as the two men stumbled away from one another. Daniel frowned, not quite sure which hurt worse, his hip or the bottom of his foot. He watched Jack limp to the edge of the mat, swearing, as he wiped one hand across his forehead. "Works better with boots on, Danny," Jack laughed suddenly.

Breathing heavily, Daniel rested his hands on his thighs, making sure to keep Jack in sight. He struggled to ignore the nickname he'd come to hate and keep his focus.

The kid had come a long way, Jack thought. He'd been a skinny bookworm when they first met, and didn't know one end of a gun from the other. _But he still managed to save your life and lead the people of Abydos to rebel against their god_, he reminded himself. Since then Jack had made sure that Daniel had the training and skills necessary to survive out in the field. He'd never have that 'warrior mentality' that defined the career soldier – he'd never be able to take a life unflinchingly – but, that was okay, that's what he and Teal'c were for. But he'd be damned if he let Daniel get himself killed on some godforsaken planet in the armpit of the galaxy because Jack O'Neill hadn't forced him to learn to take care of himself.

He watched Daniel watch him, flexing his leg muscles in anticipation, and when the younger man closed his eyes for a moment, Jack launched himself across the mat, catching the civilian around the right knee with his right arm, and propelling his shoulder into Daniel's midsection to take him down backwards. Suddenly, all of Daniel's weight was falling on Jack's shoulders and back and he felt himself slammed face first into the mat with 180 pounds of archaeologist on his back. Okay, he hadn't seen that one coming.

A moment later the weight was gone and Jack realized he was grinning from ear to ear. _Who taught you that move, Danny-boy?_ he thought to himself as he crawled to his hands and knees and then sat back on his haunches. He'd been about to congratulate his teammate when he looked up and saw Daniel standing there, six feet away, with his back to O'Neill. He could feel the blood rush to his head as he silently got to his feet.

Teal'c placed one hand on Major Carter's arm when he sensed that she would move. Daniel Jackson had performed well thus far, sending O'Neill to the mat many times and receiving but little damage himself. But the Jaffa now saw that the young man was struggling with his control, and stood with his back to the enemy. Teal'c's dark eyes shifted to O'Neill's face. As he expected, no true mentor could ignore such a blatant disregard for tactics as this, and his young teammate would soon feel O'Neill's wrath. He quieted Major Carter with one hand – her instinct was to warn Daniel Jackson in some way, but he could not allow that to happen. It would be an injustice to the fledgling warrior to ignore this lesson, and while he would protect this brother with his life against the attack of a Goa'uld, he would not shield him from the righteous anger of O'Neill.

Daniel sensed his danger, but not before Jack had moved, quickly and quietly, dodging under Daniel's right arm and jamming his left knee up between Daniel's legs. He grabbed the front of Daniel's t-shirt with his right hand as he lifted with his knee, and then turned and slammed him down on his back onto the mat with all of his strength. Jack, hands resting on his knees, watched the breath flood from Daniel's body in one surge as the blue eyes glazed, staring up into the ceiling lights. A general moan sounded throughout the gym, and he noticed airmen and soldiers begin to straggle out, shaking their heads. _Yeah, the show's over._

"Dammit, Daniel," he yelled into his friend's pale face, "you never, _never_ turn your back on your enemy!"

The blue eyes blinked twice, and Daniel focused on Jack's face with difficulty. Something flashed behind those eyes, but Jack grabbed the young man by the shoulder and pulled him to a sitting position so he could drag a ragged breath into his lungs. Still gasping, Daniel bent his knees and watched as Jack moved to stand at his feet.

"You can never…" the continuation of Jack's lecture was cut off suddenly when Daniel's right leg struck out, his heel hitting Jack just below the left knee with a satisfying crunch and sending the colonel to the mat in a crumpled heap.

"Ow! What the hell, Daniel," Jack writhed as Teal'c and Sam leaped onto the mat, crouching next to their fallen teammates.

Daniel hauled himself to his feet, still a bit grey and gulping lungfuls of air, one hand held across his chest. "'You can never' assume your enemy is down," he gasped out. "Thanks for the lesson." Three pairs of eyes watched him walk off towards the locker room.


	9. Redefining

Redefining

_So much for keeping my emotions off the mat_, Daniel banged the door of his locker open, chucked his towel, and dressed quickly. The blue BDUs felt particularly foreign to his body today, but it wasn't until he finished tying his boots that he remembered he had nowhere to go except back to an office that wasn't his, and a job that was uncertain at best and…at worst? Over. Gone. Like his wife. Like his family. Antagonizing Jack felt good for a moment, felt like payback for some of the pain and anxiety that had taken up residence in his soul - for a moment. Then reality slammed Daniel down to the metaphorical mat and left him far more breathless than Jack ever could. _Brilliant. Alienate the one man who controlled your destiny. _He let his hands dangle, elbows resting on his knees, his head bent to his chest as he sat, unmoving, on the bench.

He heard the swish of the door behind him, and felt the cool air from the corridor swirl through the perpetual humidity of the men's locker room. His jaw clenched against the apology he knew he should speak, his body rebelling against his mind's bright idea to try to make nice with the leader of SG-1. Cursing silently in every language he could remember, Daniel reminded himself – again – of the plan. Focus. He could do this. He could change. Put on the mental and emotional brakes, detach himself from regrets, wounds, passions. Detach – that's the word Sam used when they'd found Cassandra. _"Sometimes I forget you're not military."_ Apparently she was the only one.

"Daniel Jackson."

A reprieve. Daniel wondered if he could still slip out of the room before a cold-eyed, furious Air Force colonel limped in. He stood and turned to find Teal'c standing close behind him.

"Is he okay?" The words were out of his mouth before he knew it, and Daniel realized that no matter what Jack did or said, or how many times he brushed Daniel off as a light-weight or a geek, he'd probably never stop worrying about him.

"O'Neill will be fine," Teal'c watched his Taur'i brother carefully. "Major Carter has accompanied him to the infirmary."

Daniel groaned and turned away, picking up the glasses he'd placed on the shelf of his locker and taking his time to adjust them properly on his face. If Jack had agreed to go to the infirmary, it must be bad. What in God's name had made Daniel target the one part of Jack's anatomy that was most vulnerable?

"You did nothing wrong, Daniel Jackson."

The gentleness of Teal'c's voice brought a lump to his throat. With difficulty, Daniel swallowed it as firmly as he closed his locker, putting his shoulder against those mental doors that were suddenly made of wet cardboard. He turned around, the string that tied on his mask of normalcy fraying badly. "Didn't I?"

Teal'c took a step nearer, dark eyes intent. "You did not. You found yourself in a defenseless position against your foe, and you struck out boldly and with great power. You used your enemy's weakness against him, and made certain that he could not rise again to threaten you. Are these not all things that O'Neill has been trying to teach you?"

Daniel frowned and let his gaze slip down to the floor between him and his well-intentioned teammate. Of course, Teal'c would see it that way. He could detach with the best of them – he had to after all of the things that he'd seen and done in his decades of service to Apophis. Jack O'Neill's Special Ops history was ultimately no match for the Jaffa's own personal warrior mentality. Daniel knew he could never remove himself from his actions so much that he could see things from Teal'c's perspective, but he had to try. He had to at least listen. Teal'c chose to speak so rarely, so rarely felt he had anything essential to add to the discussion, that when he made the effort to reach out, to close the gap between human and alien, the world should listen.

"There are those in this life that seek only to hurt and to destroy, Daniel Jackson, that would kill you if given the chance. You know this; you have witnessed it on many occasions on the missions of SG-1." Teal'c studied his teammate carefully, noting the tension that vibrated through the young man, the intent expression on his face. "There is no shame in victory, as there must be no hesitation, no faltering in the face of threat. You must allow yourself to strike effectively, not just for your own sake, but for the sake of your friends, and for the SGC."

He heard the words. He even knew they were right, at least from Teal'c's perspective. But he also knew that he hadn't kicked out at Jack from the motivation that Teal'c assumed he had. It hadn't been a tactical exercise to him, but an act of anger – spite. He'd seen the opportunity to hurt Jack and he'd taken it.

"I don't feel like a warrior, Teal'c," Daniel admitted, finally, his gaze lifting to Teal'c's. "Yes, I know the threat is real, but it's out there," he raised one arm, pointing in the general direction of the Stargate, "on other worlds, in Goa'uld strongholds, not here. The training…" he closed his eyes tightly, trying to put his thoughts into words the Jaffa would understand, "…it isn't real. And I can't make myself believe it is."

Teal'c understood the guilt that lay beneath the scholar's words. "Every apprentice, at some point, comes to resent his teacher. And all teachers understand this fact. Master Bra'tac himself felt the strikes of a young Jaffa who fought in anger – do not concern yourself with this. It is far worse to hesitate when faced with a true enemy." He held his silence a moment so that the scholar would hear his words over the voices that he knew swelled within his own mind. "And that is why O'Neill insists upon the continued training of SG-1, so that our bodies and minds will respond to _all_ threats without hesitation. Not all danger arrives at the hands of the Goa'uld."

He still had not reached his friend, and Teal'c knew that he must. "You have been sorely tried, Daniel Jackson," he murmured, "and the injuries to your spirit have yet to be healed." He watched as his words began to touch the wounds within. "I myself have been the instrument of your pain on more than one occasion."

"Teal'c…"

"Hear me." He did not need the words of his friend's forgiveness once again. "Even now you stand, here, at the heart of the battle, and you strike back against your enemy and refuse to be beaten. You have the heart of a warrior, Daniel Jackson. Even as Master Bra'tac once dismissed you as hassak, and many System Lords underestimated your courage and determination, so have the eyes of our comrades been blinded to your true strengths."

"I'm not a…"

He placed one hand on the young man's shoulder. "While the battle wages, you must not falter – believe that you belong here, in this place, at this time." He had seen many young warriors fall to doubt before their first encounter with a physical enemy. And even though Teal'c admired O'Neill's courage and proficiency, in this instance he knew that the Taur'i leader did not see the true danger that threatened. Teal'c's respect for the military discipline of the soldiers with whom he trained and fought was great, but, as one who had lived twice their lifetimes in the brutal Goa'uld society, he also understood that menace had many faces. And the enemy which now threatened Daniel Jackson could prove to accomplish what the Goa'uld, as powerful and ruthless as they were, could not – the destruction of SG-1.

A rueful smile played around Daniel's lips. "So, I guess you're saying that there are different kinds of strength, and while I may be no good in a fist fight, I can always beat the enemy over the head with my words or something."

Teal'c placed his hands behind his back, and met his friend's expression with a slight smile of his own. "I am not."

"Uh, you're not?" Daniel was startled, and missed a few items on his inner voice's listing of all the ways he would not reach warrior standing any time soon.

"Your strength is not in question."

Daniel snorted. "Maybe not with _you_…"

Teal'c nodded – the question resided where it would do the most damage - within the young man's own heart. "You do not have the fighting skills of O'Neill."

"I know…"

"Nor the force of a Jaffa warrior."

"I know…"

"Nor the physical discipline of the well-trained soldiers who fight beside you."

"I _know_, Teal'c, but thanks so much for reminding me," Daniel ground his teeth together in frustration.

"But not all of one's enemies require O'Neill's fighting skills, nor a Jaffa's power – these are not true strength."

The intensity in the large man's expression trapped Daniel's awareness, and he found himself leaning forward, rapt, as if the next phrase that came out of Teal'c's mouth might be the one that put his fears to rest – or at least sent them off for a short nap.

"True strength is to see - in the moment of battle, in the timeless place between thought and action - to see the right thing to do," Teal'c's dark gaze held constant as he paused, willing his young friend to understand, "and to be willing to risk everything – _everything_, Daniel Jackson – in order to do it." He bowed, dipping his head and shoulders deliberately towards the other man as to one who deserved his respect, before he turned gracefully on his heel and left the room.

Daniel breathed again. _Risk everything?_

_ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

**More follows very soon. Thanks for reading.**


	10. Misdirection

Misdirection

Janet Frasier's words of warning still ringing in his ears, Jack limped down the corridor of Level 18 in the SGC complex with a clarity of focus that was usually reserved for off-world missions into Goa'uld occupied territory. Made sense. Based on Daniel's reactions during Jack's brilliantly inspired training session and the cold shoulders that had been shrugged in his direction all day from his team, not to mention some of Daniel's research staff, maybe he should consider the archaeologist's office as behind enemy lines. He nodded at two geeks – uh, scientists – who had come around the corner at the end of the hall, heads together discussing some fascinating doodad or line of alien script that had been found on PF-whatever, but they merely glanced up at the colonel's face grimly and kept on walking. He had the sudden urge to turn and throw a one-liner over his shoulder but thought better of it – maybe he'd irritated enough people for one day.

Who knew little Daniel Jackson could be so ruthless? Jack had seen Daniel cut the most overbearing System Lord or fat-headed bureaucrat down to size with a well-turned phrase and rampant blue-eyed sincerity, but a low blow right where it hurts – that was a surprise. It was probably a surprise to Daniel, too, Jack mused, and, if he knew his archaeologist, no matter how mad he was at Jack at the moment, his guilt trip would be well on the road by this point. His own anger had been fleeting, quickly replaced by a stirring of pride in the changes in Daniel that prompted that foot strike in the first place. It wasn't too long ago that Daniel would have shied away from ever hitting Jack in training, of making any kind of aggressive move, instead he'd relied on quickness and agility to deflect his opponents' attacks hoping to wear them out before he was caught – and eventually failing.

He'd rather that Daniel's new willingness to fight had come from some kind of sense of his own worth, or a genuine desire to learn how to protect himself, but Jack knew better. What he'd seen in Daniel's eyes during that training session hadn't been a fighter's commitment to sharpen his skills, or a student's yearning to impress his teacher. It had looked more like desperation – a blankness that Jack translated as a deep-seated knowledge that he had no more to lose. Jack knew that look. He'd seen it often enough in his own reflection before his encounter with Daniel Jackson under the blue skies of Abydos. And after the past few months, he shouldn't be surprised to find it looking back at him out of his friend's eyes. Daniel needed something to live for, and Jack had better find it soon, or one of these days Daniel was going to kick out at someone who didn't curl up on the mat in pain – someone who kicked him back, hard. Rocks and research could not possibly be enough to fill that gaping void, no more than the Air Force could plug up the holes in Jack's own soul after Charlie died. Jack knew that Daniel would only get a chance to find what he was looking for by traveling through the Stargate as a member of SG-1, and if hiring the archaeological equivalent of Stephen Hawking and enduring the snubs and snarls of his 2IC were what it took to keep him there, then Jack could handle it. And the sooner Daniel realized it, the better.

Pushing open the door to Daniel's office, Jack snapped his mouth closed over his usual greeting and stood for a moment, trying to put a name to the feeling that had struck him the moment he saw the large figure bent over Daniel's desk, his fingers shuffling through Daniel's research. Something was wrong with this picture.

"Dr. Kendrick?"

"Colonel O'Neill, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The words were friendly enough, but Jack thought he heard an undercurrent there…a wariness. Jack leaned casually against the door frame and folded his hands loosely over his chest, dark gaze taking in the usual chaos of Daniel's office, trying to pinpoint whatever had woken up his well-trained paranoia.

"Settling in?" Jack knew that Hammond had assigned the new scientist his own space down the hall from Daniel, so why was the guy sitting at Daniel's desk as if he owned the place?

Donald Kendrick looked down at the copies of Jackson's notes he'd been studying, knowing that the Air Force colonel had no idea what he was doing, but stifling an urge to explain himself nonetheless. "Yes, young Daniel has been quite helpful and generous with his office and his research." He smiled warmly. "You know us academic types, Colonel; we tend to work better in a group setting where we can discuss our thoughts openly. Sitting alone in my new office wouldn't do me much good, now would it?"

Interesting that the guy seemed to know exactly what Jack was thinking. He shrugged. "Yeah, he and Carter are always prattling on to each other about this or that new theory."

Kendrick straightened the pile of papers in front of him, making sure that Jackson's notes on the clay figurines were hidden among the others before he looked up again at the military man. "If you're looking for Daniel, he mentioned that he had to drop off something in the 'gate room, but I'm sure he'll be back shortly."

Jack screwed his face up in confusion and checked his watch. "Nobody's due back – any idea what he was 'dropping off'?"

"No idea whatsoever," Kendrick admitted, with a slight laugh. "I've noticed that the boy is a bit scattered, doesn't communicate too clearly at times."

Unfolding his arms and moving inside the office, Jack slowly wound his way towards Daniel's desk, absently picking up an artifact or nudging a box on his way. He'd used the same phrase to describe Daniel more than once, so why did hearing it from this guy make it sound so… malicious? "That's because Dr. Jackson tends to think that all of us regular people can think as quickly as he can," he replied, careful to keep his voice even as the urge to defend his teammate swept over him. _What the heck was going on here?_ Jack noticed a slight tensing around Kendrick's eyes at his inclusion of the two of them in his term 'regular people.' Oh, great, another thin-skinned genius. _Do they make any other kind?_ Putting on his best 'stupid colonel' look he smiled. "You know, he thinks our brains can follow the same twisted paths that his own zips merrily down at hyper speed."

Kendrick realized that the man's sudden appearance was an opportunity he could not pass up. The leader of SG-1 clearly had some sort of relationship with the young archaeologist: the mission reports, while largely dry and heavy on tactical agenda, described a deep level of commitment from all four of the members of the team towards each other, and the two had demonstrated too much animosity during the handful of meetings he'd been witness to today to be easily explained. In his experience, that much negative emotion could only be traced to some kind of personal issue. From what he'd learned through his interactions with other base personnel, and from previous dealings with the military, the divide between the two men often centered around what General Hammond had described as "Dr. Jackson's unfortunate tendency to get in the way of military objectives." Translated, that meant he had the usual academic inclination to put off action until the situation could be analyzed from every possible perspective. Laudable in research, but a mistake when dealing with the government. Watching O'Neill's sharp-eyed gaze, Kendrick began widening that divide.

"Colonel O'Neill, I hesitate to bring this up, but," he glanced down at the small clay figurine which stood at his left hand. "I realize that one of the priorities of the research department right now is to determine the significance of these figures to the people of M4S-599, and so help Major Fletcher succeed in his rescue mission."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?" Daniel had been fiddling around with those dolls for a week now. "And?"

"Well, I mean, I'm sure his concentration on Egyptology has limited his interest in the development of cultures in other locations, but, well…"

"Spit it out, Doc," O'Neill demanded.

Taking a deep breath, Kendrick continued. "Well it's obvious."

"Obvious? As in…"

"The figures are clay surrogates, made to appease the gods of the volcano." He suddenly pulled the thick book that Daniel had been perusing from his lap and placed it on the desk. Motioning for Jack to join him he drew one finger down the margin until he reached the passage he'd noted earlier. "Among the natives of the Pacific Islands, a sacrifice was often made to the spirits which lived within the volcanoes."

Jack couldn't help taking a step forward to lean over the desk. "Human sacrifices?"

Kendrick shook his head. "No, the people made clay effigies of themselves to throw into the volcano in order to pacify them and ensure the safety of their villages."

"And you think the people of M4S-599 want Major Fletcher to…" he made a flipping gesture with his right hand.

"Yes," Kendrick smiled. "If they don't appease the gods, who knows what the villagers might do." Letting that suggestion hang in the air and conjure up mental images in the military man, Kendrick paused a moment before he went on. "I'm sure that young Daniel would have come up with the answer in time, but perhaps my wider range of expertise can be of some assistance in this matter? I mean, why wait for the next deployment in order to take care of this problem? No time like the present, is there Colonel O'Neill."

"No," Jack nodded warily, "no time like the present." His eyes locked onto the mild gaze of the older man. _Just that easy, huh?_ Something that Daniel had been struggling with for over a week and Kendrick comes in and solves it in a few hours? _You really need a rest from the rock game, don't you Danny?_ "Write up your report, Dr. Kendrick and I'll make sure it goes through General Hammond before the weekend."

Shuffling as if in apprehension, Kendrick hid his delight at the colonel's directive. "I'm not speaking out of turn here, am I Colonel?"

"What? No," Jack shook his head, preoccupied with his thoughts. "Taking some of the pressure off Daniel was the reason the Pentagon brought you here."

"Yes, and I'd like to repay their confidence in me by making a contribution as quickly as possible."

"Thanks, Doc, I guess we owe you one," Jack reached out to shake the scientist's hand.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Both men turned to find Daniel standing in the doorway, arms crossed in a posture reminiscent of Jack's of a few moments ago. The smile was completely disconnected from the cold glare of his eyes as he looked back and forth between the two men. Jack automatically dropped his hand and turned toward his friend as if he were trying to hide something. _Just why the heck did he feel so guilty?_


	11. Disconnection

Disconnection

"General, this is a mistake…"

"Doctor Jackson…"

"…I need more time to…"

"To what, Daniel?" O'Neill leaned forward, rubbing his knee distractedly as he watched the frustrated young man try to pace within the small confines of General Hammond's office. "To come to the same conclusion as Kendrick?"

If Daniel had known that Jack was with the general discussing the very report that was on his mind, he might have hesitated. He didn't need another confrontation with Jack right now – another argument over Kendrick and his role at the SGC and especially Jack's acceptance of the man as manna from heaven. If Daniel had walked into his office five minutes later, he might not have known anything about Kendrick's conversation with Jack about the mysterious clay figures, and the damage might already have been done. He'd seen the annoyance in Kendrick's eyes at his appearance, and something else in Jack's – something he couldn't quite indentify - as the two men shook hands over Daniel's desk.

"_Am I interrupting something?"_

"Nope, just getting the Doc's input about these little buggers," Jack had replied at Daniel's question. The colonel had picked up the figurine and peered at its little clay face.

"Oh, really?" he remembered his brilliant response as he'd shifted his gaze to Kendrick. "I thought you were working on the Orbanian inscriptions with Dr. Anders?" Daniel had glanced to his right, to the table where he'd been researching island cultures and noticed that a large reference book and his notes were missing.

"It was just a notion, really," Kendrick added modestly, his well-rehearsed sincerity making the hairs on the back of Daniel's neck stand up. _What was he doing?_

"Dr. Kendrick here just removed something from your 'to-do' list, Daniel. Pretty sweet." Jack had put the figurine down and rubbed his hands together in mock glee. "Plenty of time for pizza and beer tonight."

He remembered his surprise, and a familiar anger that had begun to flood through his body, twisting in his stomach and rising through his chest. It had been years since he'd felt this way. He should have been prepared for this. Ignoring Jack for the moment, he'd walked forward to glance down at the pile of papers on his desk and the text book Kendrick was clutching. He felt his mouth tense into a line when he noticed the title of the book, and the page of his notes that was sticking out from the middle of the pile. "Dr. Kendrick?"

The man hadn't even gotten a chance to open his mouth when Jack had interrupted. "Not to worry, Daniel, Doc Kendrick here is on the job." He'd slapped Daniel on the shoulder as he began to make his way towards the door, and Daniel saw him wince as he put his weight on his left leg.

"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Colonel." Daniel had assumed that the pain from Jack's knee was what kept him from noticing the artificiality that oozed from Kendrick's words.

"Just make sure I get that report ASAP so we can get it cleared before the next check-in." Jack turned in the doorway. "And don't be late, Daniel."

"What?" An evening at Jack's place had been about the last thing on his mind, then - Kendrick had taken Daniel's research. The look of open triumph on the older man's face confirmed that, as well as the fact that they both knew that there was absolutely nothing Daniel could do about it. He'd crossed his arms and lowered his head to hide his fury. This is something Jack would never understand.

"Ah!" Jack waved a finger in the air. "20:00 hours, Daniel, that's eight o'clock, to you."

"I know, Jack, but…"

The colonel had already been gone, limping down the hallway, apparently under the impression that Daniel's personal life was just as much under his thumb as his professional one. Turning back towards Kendrick he'd tried to set aside his anger and concentrate on the more important issue before him, but the glitter of contempt in Kendrick's eyes had been too much.

"What the hell are you doing?" The words had worked their way out through teeth that ached from clenching.

"Calm down, my boy, I simply told Colonel O'Neill about the link between the Pacific Island cultures on Earth and the people that Major Fletcher is dealing with." Kendrick's wide smile displayed too much joy to be comfortable.

"I wasn't finished with my research," he'd managed to respond.

"My dear boy," he'd stood and, before Daniel could move he'd grasped Daniel's upper arms in his hands and stepped closer. "You must learn to curb your enthusiasm." He squeezed tightly before he looked pointedly towards the security camera mounted over the door. Dropping his arms and settling back into Daniel's desk chair, he'd pulled the keyboard towards him. "It is one of the dangers of academic research to always believe there is something else to learn if one just digs a bit deeper. Sometimes we can get too close to a problem to see it, but, at some point, one must stop digging and believe he has found the answer."

Daniel's thoughts had choked and stalled at Kendrick's unwelcome gesture, intent on keeping his body from automatically hitting the older man, and it was a moment before the words even registered. He'd placed one hand flat on the open book on his desk and tried to capture Kendrick's attention. "You're wrong, Dr. Kendrick. I've gone over the Pacific Island references and there's something that doesn't fit."

"Please, my boy," Kendrick's tone had grown annoyed. "Don't embarrass yourself by trying to argue with me. Why don't you run along and help that nice Dr. Anders with her Olmec inscriptions while I make an attempt to salvage this mission for Major Fletcher and his team."

Daniel scrubbed one hand across his forehead as he remembered his speechlessness at Kendrick's dismissive words, sending him away as if he were a child – one of his students – before he'd stalked out of his office. Regardless of the man's attitude and outright theft of Daniel's own theories, there was something about the villagers' situation that didn't fit with the Pacific Island framework, he _knew_ it, but until he could come up with a better explanation than that, Kendrick was right. Arguing was pointless and it would make him look even more like a stubborn, jealous child in Jack's eyes than he already did.

Strangely enough, it had been his work with Anders that had helped him make the connection. Leaning over a table in the lab she shared with three other members of his… Kendrick's … research staff, discussing the culture that predated the Mayans and Aztecs in Central America, he'd turned a page and come face to face with a rendering of an erupting volcano. Standing quickly, he'd stared into the distance as his brain kicked in.

"Dr. Jackson?" Anders' voice managed to jerk his gaze to her worried face after he didn't know how long.

"Ah, sorry," he'd smiled, "the other researchers should have warned you that I do that sometimes." His feet had already started moving towards the door when she called out to him again. "Listen, I need to discuss something with General Hammond, do you mind if we…" he'd let his words trail off and flipped one hand through the air to include all of their research and notes.

"That's fine," she'd replied, hurrying forward to stop him before he rushed out of the lab. "But, before you go, can I ask you something?"

"Uh, sure." Daniel had tried to harness his attention, but couldn't help glancing at his watch. 18:45. He knew that he had to get to the general's office before he'd made a decision based on Kendrick's report and left for the day. Anders had mumbled something about not worrying about it and he'd practically run all the way to Hammond's office. Of course, Jack had been there and the two Air Force officers had been on their way to dial the gate and send Kendrick's information through to Fletcher and his team.

"No, Jack, that's not what I mean." Daniel tried to lower his voice to a conversational level, but his frustration with the two men in front of him – with the whole situation – had grown exponentially since he'd entered the office.

"Then just what do you mean, Dr. Jackson," General Hammond's own tone was cold, sharp – he did not like receiving two conflicting reports from the same department, especially when he had good men in the field who needed them to get it right. "I've got six men on an alien planet whose lives may well depend on this report." He nudged the folder lying open in front of him.

"All the more reason to make sure we get it right, General," Daniel insisted. "Let me talk with Esposito again when the team dials in, and give me 24 hours to look through some more texts on South American civilizations." Hammond turned to meet O'Neill's eyes in silent communication. "Please, General, even after all the research I did on the customs of the Pacific Islanders, I know we're missing something."

"Oh, the research _you_ did," Jack muttered, lurching up out of the chair to give Daniel the full force of his smirk. "You know, when he sent me his report Kendrick warned me that you'd take this personally, but I didn't believe him." He pointed his finger at Daniel's chest and prodded the archaeologist. "I thought you'd be genuinely happy to have somebody else to lighten your workload," Jack snorted.

"Jack." Daniel knew Kendrick was playing him, insinuating doubt in Jack and in General Hammond about his own integrity. But he couldn't let that stop him – if they sent wrong information to Fletcher through the wormhole, men could die. Jack was still looming over him, sure he was right in that tunnel-vision military mind-set. But Daniel refused to back down. "I'm telling you that Kendrick's report may be wrong."

"Of course you are," Jack mocked, head tilted to one side so he could eye his teammate. "Face it, Daniel, you're just steamed that the new kid on the block came up with the answer this time."

"You really believe that." It wasn't a question. The sudden softness of Daniel's voice and the vulnerable look in his eyes stopped Jack's momentum and instantly erased his spiteful expression. _No, of course I don't._ Jack replayed the entire argument in his head, never taking his eyes from Daniel's. Daniel should be shouting, eyes snapping in anger, stammering in his determination to get Jack to listen to him. So, why wasn't he?

"24 hours, General," Daniel whispered.

Hammond noticed the tense stand-off across his desk, and his gaze shifted worriedly between the two men. If Jack gave him the smallest signal, he'd agree to Dr. Jackson's request. "Colonel O'Neill?"

Brown eyes narrowed, but stayed locked onto his teammate's. "It's not too much to ask, General."

"So you're saying that, with no evidence whatsoever, just a gut feeling, I should take Dr. Jackson's word for this over the word of Dr. Kendrick, a renowned expert in the field?"

"24 hours, General." Jack knew he was dodging the question, and saw that realization in Daniel's face.

Hammond sighed, slapping the file closed. "This time, Dr. Jackson, this time. But sometime soon that's just not going to be good enough, son."

Daniel stood for a moment before nodding once to Jack, one corner of his mouth jerking up uneasily. Muttering something under his breath, he turned and walked out, footsteps echoing through the silence.

"What did he say, Colonel?" Hammond asked after a moment.

Jack turned to his CO and rubbed the back of neck. "He said, 'It should be.'"

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**The next two chapters up soon – they will bring this story to its end.**


	12. Duty

Duty

"Unauthorized incoming wormhole!"

He was on his feet and fumbling for his glasses before the blaring alarm had a chance to echo once through the quiet base. Nothing, not even the caustic voice of a cold-eyed O'Neill, could wake Daniel so thoroughly from a dead sleep. He shoved his feet into the boots that he'd dropped next to his bed and hurried towards the door to his on-base quarters, no thoughts for the books and papers he was disrupting from his frantic movements. His boots made an odd clomping sound in the empty concrete hallways, almost as loud in his ears as the heavy beating of his heart. Something was wrong – this wasn't going to be the Tok'ra or Bra'tac checking in - nothing good ever happened at o-dark-thirty. His pace brought him to 'Gate Room just as SG-5 was stumbling through the event horizon, dusty, gritty - bloody, Daniel realized as his eyes took in the deep gash on Col. Bates' temple and the makeshift sling supporting Maj. Cosgrove's left arm. Robert Rothman was already being helped onto a stretcher by one of Warner's burly orderlies, his right pant leg slit to the knee and his ankle encased in a field splint. Noticing that his colleague was being well cared for, Daniel moved to lend a shoulder to a swaying young lieutenant who seemed to be covered from ankles to eyebrows in a fine film of dust. Bates stopped at the end of the ramp and waved away a hovering medic, eyes roving over the group as if to make doubly sure that he'd returned with just as many men as he'd led through the wormhole only 20 hours ago.

"Robert?" One of the orderlies had finally gotten the archaeologist safely situated, and Daniel carefully surrendered his hold on the young airman to his ministrations so he could catch up with Rothman's fast moving gurney. He grasped his friend's arm as the man closed his eyes to shut out the dizzying sight of the corridor lights flying past. "Tell me the roof didn't cave in, Robert," Daniel whispered urgently.

Rothman's wry laugh turned into a cough and Daniel steadied him until he managed to catch his breath. Shaking his head from side to side, he reached out and grabbed Daniel's sleeve. "I should have seen it, Daniel, the rock around the entrance should have told me it wasn't stable. Major Cosgrove pushed me out of the way and got hit by one of those big timbers. It probably would have killed me if he hadn't." Another series of coughs tore from his throat and Daniel glanced up at Dr. Warner's concerned expression.

"Don't try to talk, Dr. Rothman," the doctor advised solemnly.

_Timbers?_ Daniel leaned down, one hand on Rothman's shoulder, guilt and worry furrowing his brow. "I'm sorry, Robert, it was my fault. I thought the video showed some damage to the columns, I should have warned you…"

Rothman's dirt-caked frown mirrored Daniel's own. "Columns? What are you talking about, Daniel? We set up camp in an abandoned mine near the temple. The roof collapsed in the middle of the night. They spent the next three hours digging me, Cosgrove and Lt. Loder out," Rothman gasped.

The relief that seeped through Daniel's body was spoiled by concern for Rothman and the men of SG-5. Forced to wait in the hall while the injured were evaluated and treated, Daniel paced anxiously, glancing at his watch every few minutes trying to determine whether he had enough time to run back to his quarters to grab the text on pre-Aztec civilizations to study while he waited for permission to see his colleague, or if it would be a waste of time. The nurse could come out any second, and as those seconds ticked by he was reminded that his 24-hour deadline was fast approaching. He'd give it another five minutes, he decided, shoving his hands into his pockets. His fingers slid along the smooth edge of the envelope the 'Gate Technician had handed him only twenty minutes ago – the one that bore Rothman's name on the outside written in his own careful scrawl. Daniel was suddenly confident that the decision to wait until Robert could have visitors was the right one – he'd known this afternoon when he'd written the note and handed it to the spectacled sergeant to be sent through the wormhole at SG-5's first check-in that Robert Rothman deserved to hear the truth about the SGC's new 'acquisition' sooner rather than later. Just as he managed to gather his evaporating patience and lean back against the cold stone of the underground corridor, a petite blonde nurse approached with a smile.

"Dr. Jackson, you can see Dr. Rothman now if you'd like."

Clean, dressed in infirmary scrubs, and sporting a brace on his ankle, Rothman looked infinitely better than he had when he'd stumbled down the ramp. Daniel stopped at the foot of the bed, eyeing the IV line that trailed from one arm, not quite sure if his colleague was totally alert or already drugged out on pain meds.

"Robert?"

Brown eyes blinked open and Rothman folded one arm under his head to peer down the length of his bed. "Hey."

"You doing okay?"

"Yeah, it's just a bad sprain, nothing broken." He gestured down the line of beds towards the source of Cosgrove's clearly audible moans. "Better than a separated shoulder, that's for sure."

Daniel grunted in agreement, folding his arms over his chest. "Sounds like you ran into some bad luck."

"You're telling me," Rothman snorted. "Good thing the big burly Marines were there to come to the rescue. Hey, remind me to not bad-mouth them for at least a week, okay?" he smiled. Suddenly taking in the subdued lighting and minimal staff in the infirmary, a thought struck him and he narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing on base, anyhow? It's like four in the morning, isn't it?"

Shrugging, Daniel merely smiled tightly.

His frown deepening, Rothman tried to push himself to a more upright position. He glanced from side to side and whispered as if he were a conspirator in a grade-B movie. "Is something going on? Somebody dead? Missing?" Rothman's voice strained towards the higher registers as he let his gaze travel up and down Daniel's frame momentarily. "You're here, so my first bet on a victim is already out."

"Very funny, Robert," Daniel huffed, hesitating again, not quite sure how to – or if to – broach the subject with his friend in this very public setting. "Just getting some work done, you know me." Maybe Robert had enough on his mind; maybe he should let him rest. God knew he wouldn't get much once Daniel told him about Kendrick's arrival. He hesitated, wondering just how to best protect his friend from the latest idiotic military decision and frustrated that, whatever road he chose, his friend would be hurt. If SG-5 hadn't picked a decaying mine shaft for their camp that night, Rothman would still be off-world and oblivious, but here in the infirmary he was likely to hear about the scientist's appointment in a casually dropped phrase any minute. Grasping the letter he'd written earlier in the day, he moved to the side of the bed and held it out to the injured man.

"What's this?"

Now it was Daniel's turn to glance around. "Listen, Robert. I know you'd like to stay here as the pampered guest of the SGC doctors and their big scary needles," he didn't stop to acknowledge Rothman's sarcastic exclamation, "but, do me a favor. Read this when you have a chance. And, if you decide you'd rather recuperate at home, or take a few weeks leave, I'll be glad to drive you. Just have an airman call me."

"Daniel?" He eyed the envelope with suspicion. "You _are_ dying!"

That prompted a genuine laugh. Daniel shook his head, a smile still lingering on his face. "No, Robert, I'm not dying. Just read it, okay?"

Three hours later Daniel was back in the infirmary, receiving a copy of Rothman's care instructions and a firm lecture on his own need for rest from Janet Frasier who had been barraged by Robert's repeated requests for discharge as soon as she reported for duty. Daniel shoved the anti-inflammatories and pain meds into his already heavy pack full of reference materials, careful to nod sincerely every time the doctor paused in her recitation while watching Rothman attempt to navigate on his new crutches. He knew that look – the one of mixed disgust and fury that distorted the archaeologist's features. It had been the only expression he'd seen on Rothman's face for almost the entire first year of their acquaintance back in Chicago. Robert Rothman, Ph.D. in Anthropology and Master's in Archaeology blinked rapidly, desperate to flee the suddenly claustrophobic underground base before he came face to face with a nightmare from his academic past.

Shuffling slowly past the sentry station at the surface, Daniel reached over to steady his friend while he cursed every god from every pantheon of every mythology he'd ever heard of under his breath. Of course. It's almost 07:30. _I am an idiot._ Most on-base personnel reported at 08:00, so it made perfect sense that the two figures both he and Rothman wanted to avoid at all costs would be coming towards them through the parking lot. He could see the whitening of Rothman's knuckles as he clutched the crutches' handles lurching painfully as he tried to move faster.

"Just keep moving," Daniel whispered, pointing to his own car to their right as he angled to the left, placing himself between the wounded archaeologist and the approaching figures.

"Daniel." Jack was still wearing reflective sunglasses which effectively hid his eyes, but not his mood. "Missed you last night."

"You only gave me 24 hours, Jack; I didn't have time for 'team bonding' night." Daniel tried to keep his tone light while surreptitiously glancing at Rothman's progress towards the waiting vehicle.

"Oh, of course, your famous research to prove me wrong," Kendrick's smile seemed especially venomous in the early morning light. "My dear fellow, surely there are other, more vital tasks better suited to your talents?"

Daniel ignored him, keeping his own gaze locked on where he assumed Jack's was behind the shades. "You heard about the accident?"

"You driving Rothman home?" was Jack's only reply.

"Yes, but I'll be back in plenty of time." After a tense moment both men began to move off in opposite directions – Jack to deal with his responsibilities as 2IC of the SGC: the shuffling of teams and assignments that always resulted from injuries, and Daniel to deal with his. Neither noticed the sudden recognition in Kendrick's eyes at the mention of Rothman's name. Standing alone in the Cheyenne Mountain parking lot, Dr. Donald Kendrick felt the familiar stirrings of victory.


	13. Risk

Risk

The drive towards Rothman's townhouse on the outskirts of the Springs was largely silent except for a few of his muttered corrections to Daniel's route. After settling the injured man on the couch in his living room, which was thankfully on the ground floor of the three-story structure, making an ice pack to help with the swelling, and arranging his meds and a glass of water on a nearby table, Daniel was looking around for something else to do when Rothman's casual question took him by surprise

"How long have we known each other, Daniel?"

"Ah, five, six years?" Daniel's smile was tight – here it comes.

"Closer to seven, I think," Robert nodded, leaning his head back on the soft cushions of his couch. "I remember the day we met. Dr. Jordan introduced us."

Before he'd managed to alienate the entire archaeological and anthropological community, academia had been Dr. Daniel Jackson's life – a very comfortable, challenging, familiar life. "You weren't too happy about being the Research Assistant to a younger man."

Rothman shook his head, regretting it almost immediately as the nagging headache intensified. "I was angry, yes, but not about that." His gaze flicked momentarily towards Daniel. "You were just an easy target. Already working on your second doctorate, loved by the students and the professors, brilliant, and generally raising the standard for everyone in the department to somewhere way, _way_ over our heads." He closed his eyes. "Dr. Jordan…"

"He brought you and a number of other students with him when he left Camstead," Daniel prodded when Robert fell silent.

He nodded without opening his eyes. "He's a good man. He actually did something - more than any of us ever expected."

"I know," Daniel dropped his head. Once upon a time David Jordan had been like a surrogate father to Daniel, and the pain of their heated argument over what Jordan referred to as Daniel's 'disloyalty to science,' still hurt. Especially now, when Daniel had indisputable proof that all of his seemingly crazy theories were not nearly crazy enough – and yet, for Jordan's own good he had to stay away. Seven years ago he knew that Jordan had made a difficult ethical decision when he left his promising career at Camstead University, but the man never spoke to him about specifics.

"He never told you, did he?" Rothman asked quietly.

"Robert." Daniel had to know – if he were going to make the right decisions within the next 24 hours, he had to know.

Adjusting the ice pack on his swollen ankle, Rothman seemed to make up his mind. "Do you remember Kendrick's third book – the one about the possibilities of cross-cultural links between some of the indigenous peoples of North and South America?" He didn't bother to wait for Daniel's nod. "It really cemented his place within pop culture as the Archaeology Guru, you know?

"Yes."

Rothman craned his neck around so that he could look him in the eye, and Daniel saw that his friend's face was set, anger clear in every line. "That was my research, Daniel."

"What?" He didn't mean to sound as if the idea was so incredulous, but he remembered specifically that Robert tended to avoid any projects that dealt exclusively with ancient American cultures.

"Dr. Kendrick was my undergrad advisor. I'd been working on a theory for a couple of years, ever since I came back from a dig in Peru. He encouraged me," Rothman took his glasses off and threw them onto the coffee table, frustrated by his inability to get up and move. "Yeah, he encouraged me, all right, wanted to hear all about it, see my notes, my research, hear about my theories. I was completely taken in."

"Wait a minute," Daniel held up one hand and moved forward to perch on the edge of an armchair at ninety degrees to the couch where Rothman lay. "Kendrick stole your research and claimed it was his own? Isn't that, I mean, why didn't you expose him? Clearly Dr. Jordan believed you or he wouldn't have…"

Rothman interrupted with a self-deprecating grin. "I wasn't the first, Daniel, and I'm positive I wasn't the last. And since I'd handed over all of my notes to my so-called brilliant and caring advisor, I didn't really have much proof, anyway." He all but spit out the words. "But stealing my research wasn't the worst part of it."

"It wasn't?"

A ragged laugh escaped from Rothman's throat. "Oh, no. Not by a long shot." He reached out towards the glass of water that Daniel had parked on the nearby table, taking a long drink before he continued. "Let me spell it out for you. I'd been meeting him in his office at night, after hours, for weeks, working on this. Sometimes he'd ask me to meet him at his apartment. We even went to a few conferences together – just the two of us. And I'd stopped calling my girlfriend from home."

Daniel blinked. "Oh."

Rothman had been watching his reaction carefully over the rim of the glass. "See, see!" His voice climbed angrily. "Even you're thinking it, and you've known me for years!" He threw the glass across the room to smash against the brick fireplace. "There was nothing going on between me and Kendrick, Daniel, not like you're thinking. Don't you remember how focused you could get when you were preparing a paper? How everything else in your life fell away until the only thing you could concentrate on was the work?"

Confused, Daniel could only nod. That described most of his academic life – most of his life, actually. "So, when you confronted Kendrick about your research…"

"…he threatened to spread around that we'd been lovers, and that anything I said could be written off as the jealous raving of a jilted boyfriend." The last word came out from between clenched teeth.

"So you had the choice between losing your research and losing your reputation." It made sense. Dr. Jordan must have known what Kendrick had been up to, but without proof he wouldn't be able to do anything except drag his students' names through the mud. He knew firsthand how quickly the academic community could close ranks either for you or against you, and the tenure system dictated that the established professor was always right.

"Yeah." He put both hands behind his head and stretched his neck to one side and then the other, trying to relieve the tension that had been building since he'd read Daniel's note. "I guess I made the opposite decision from the one you did a few years later." He smiled sadly at his friend. "At least I had Dr. Jordan on my side."

Daniel didn't trust his voice to respond. He rose and began cleaning up the glass from the carpet.

Rothman eyed him warily. "It was the best I could do within the antiquated old-boy system of the academic world."

"I'm not questioning that, Robert," Daniel said, still bent over his self-imposed task. "But we don't really work within the academic world any more, do we? We have…other options."

It was Rothman's turn to frown. "What are you talking about? Sounds like it's just like old times to me. Kendrick stole your notes, and now he's trying to turn himself into some kind of savior at your expense. And even with my help, convincing the general that those figurines are Meso-American instead of Pacific Island isn't going to be easy."

Daniel looked up, his own train of thought derailed momentarily by the tone of defiance in Rothman's voice. "Robert, you need to rest."

He laid his head back against the cushions again. "C'mon, you know we've got to get Fletcher and his guys back safely. And besides, I'll have plenty of time to rest after I resign from the SGC if they decide to keep Kendrick on the payroll."

Standing, pieces of broken glass in his hand, Daniel waited until his colleague opened his eyes and looked at him. "That's not going to happen."

Rothman's eyes narrowed as he took in the adamant expression and strangely fierce light in Daniel's blue eyes. "Geez, Daniel, you've been hanging around with those military types too much." He rubbed his stomach. "Now why don't you call for some take-out and haul those text books I know you're carrying around in that pack over here and we'll get to work."

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Okay, so clearly two chapters weren't enough for all that Daniel and Rothman had to say. But one more chapter and an epilogue ought to do it. Finished by the end of the weekend. Promise!**


	14. Everything

_Everything_

Daniel drove back to the mountain through the pouring rain in an early Colorado afternoon that looked more like evening. In contrast to the growing storm and the growls of thunder, his thoughts became clearer and sharper the closer he got to the SGC, and what he knew could be the end of something very dear to him. The words that Teal'c had said to him yesterday afternoon repeated themselves on an endless loop in his brain, distracting him from the pure academic work that he and Robert had been submerged in for most of the morning, work that would usually have stilled all other voices and shut out every disturbance.

"_Not all danger arrives at the hands of the Goa'uld."_

He knew that the two of them had found every scrap of evidence there was to try to substantiate Daniel's gut feeling that the inhabitants of the volcanic planet were descended from some type of Olmec or Toltec culture. He knew that their reasoning was sound, and their conclusions logical. Beyond the facts, beyond the logic, he knew that he was right, that if Fletcher and his team treated the figures they'd been given as objects of sacrifice rather than objects of worship they'd be in real physical danger. But he also knew that it might not be enough to tilt the balance of the general's trust from the famous Dr. Donald Kendrick, the man who was trusted by military and civilian alike, to him, the SGC's absent-minded professor.

"_It is far worse to hesitate when faced with a true enemy." _

As he stood there in Rothman's living room, holding the shards of glass in his hand he had realized that he was finally thinking clearly. The true enemy here wasn't General Hammond, or Jack, or even the military machine's cold practicality and narrow vision. Setting himself up as the foil, the devil's advocate, to all things military, arguing loudly until he was red-faced and dancing in frustration, acting as if every decision made in the military command structure was automatically suspect – it was the wrong tactic. _Tactics_. He allowed himself a small smile. _Pretty soon I'll be asking myself WWJD – What Would Jack Do? _

In the world of diplomacy and pure research, Daniel's methods would always win – careful analysis, tangential thinking, leaps of faith, and the ability to put oneself completely into another's shoes were necessary to understand and interact with other cultures. But, at some point, and especially under the threat of harm, words could only do so much. At some point, one must act.

"_There is no shame in victory, as there must be no hesitation, no faltering in the face of threat. You must allow yourself to strike effectively, not just for your own sake, but for the sake of your friends, and for the SGC."_

He'd prepared his report. With Rothman's unexpected wealth of knowledge about the pre-Aztec civilizations of South America, they'd made the case for caution, for a step-by-step approach for Major Fletcher and his linguist, Paul Esposito, to employ. In his comfortable, familiar academic world Daniel had acted – done everything he could to protect the people for whom he was responsible, both off-world and in the science labs of the SGC. But now it was time to utilize his other training, his years of experience as a member of SG-1. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

"Sam? Hi, it's Daniel…listen, I know it's Saturday, and it's a lousy day outside, but…no, I'm fine, but I could really use your help with something. Ah, I'm on my way there right now. You're sure? Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate it... okay, I'll meet you in your lab in half an hour."

He glanced at his face in the rear view mirror as he flipped the phone closed, second thoughts flashing across his mind. This was all too surreal, like something out of a fantasy. He couldn't actually pull this off, could he? _This is crazy; I'm going to look like an utter fool if this doesn't work. _Then he remembered the look of defeat and anger on Robert Rothman's face and the meaning of Teal'c's final words suddenly became clear.

"_True strength is to see - in the moment of battle, in the timeless place between thought and action - to see the right thing to do, and to be willing to risk everything – __**everything**__, Daniel Jackson – in order to do it."_

Risk everything.

"Daniel, this is crazy!"

"Sam…"

"Don't you think you should just talk to General Hammond or the colonel about this? I mean," Samantha Carter ran one hand through her hair in exasperation, "if you're sure about him…"

"Oh, I'm sure." Daniel stood, arms crossed, patiently waiting for his teammate to come to the right conclusion. If anyone would understand how necessary it was for him to do this, it would be the woman who had successfully streamlined her military duties and her love of pure research.

"I believe we should assist Daniel Jackson in this effort, Major Carter."

Okay, maybe the big Jaffa with whom he had the least in common would be the one who understood, Daniel corrected himself uneasily. After a moment of silent acknowledgement, the two men turned expectantly to their colleague.

"Daniel," her blue eyes were full of concern, "I realize that this Kendrick is a bastard, but if you'd just…"

"I'm done talking, Sam." He put one hand on her arm briefly to communicate that his anger was not directed at her. "Sometimes I talk too much. If talking to Jack or the general were going to resolve this, it would already be resolved. And, besides, the real story isn't mine to tell." He frowned, knowing that Robert had made too many sacrifices already in an attempt to keep his name out of any association with Kendrick. If he wanted to come forward later, after all this was over, that would be up to him, but there'd be no pressure from Daniel.

"You really think this plan is the best way to go about this? He's bound to give himself away eventually, without us resorting to…" she gestured at the equipment spread across her lab table.

"By then it might be too late, especially for Major Fletcher." Daniel's voice dipped to a whisper, his gaze growing colder and more determined. "And what about the other scientists here at the SGC? Am I supposed to just let them fend for themselves?" He jabbed one finger at the table. "They are my responsibility, Sam. And this – this is my job."

The major searched her friends' faces, one pale but with more stubbornness than anyone else she'd ever met, and one dark and serene, but with a well of passion hidden beneath. She sighed. "Okay, but only if Teal'c is there to back you up. If you corner this guy…" she let her words trail off.

"You have my promise." Teal'c inclined his head in agreement.

"It'll take me an hour or so to get everything together." Once the decision was made, Carter began working, her fingers deftly adjusting the tiny device.

Relief surged through him – without Sam's help he'd never have been able to pull this off. Daniel nodded his thanks. "I have a few things to take care of, so I'll meet you both back here then." He opened the door to the corridor and stopped, turning. "Um, thanks. I really owe you both."

"Is this not what teammates are for, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c asked, one eyebrow climbing thoughtfully.

"Besides," Sam remarked, grinning, "if anything goes wrong, you'll be explaining everything to the colonel."

"Indeed."


	15. Strength

Strength

Donald Kendrick was careful to keep a friendly smile on his face as he tramped down the corridor towards Jackson's office. That Anders woman had pulled him away from his work on the Hunvrai treaty language just as he'd begun to get a grasp on the alien culture's complicated syntax. After a tedious half hour of her compulsive need to double check seemingly every letter of the unimportant pseudo-Latin translation, he'd finally managed to extricate himself. She'd be the first to go. The smile on his face spread slowly. After Jackson, of course.

He sat down heavily in the desk chair and allowed his attention to wander to the small clay figures grouped at one end. He trailed a finger along the curves of the artifact, a sense of power and triumph filling him. It was almost a shame that the young scholar had to go – he was brilliant, and Kendrick could make good use of such men, but his actions yesterday had assured him that Jackson would not go down easily. If he remained here, the boy would undoubtedly make himself a thorn in his side, always looking for an opportunity to win back the trust of the military command. Too bad, he chuckled to himself, that the boy had nowhere else to go.

The confrontation in the parking lot this morning had given him the idea. Academia was truly a small world, but seeing one of his favorite undergrads – well, at least one of his most useful – in the company of his newest challenge had been completely unexpected. Jordan had spirited young Rothman away when he'd gone to Chicago, it wasn't too surprising that he and Daniel Jackson had met there, and even less that Jackson had chosen him to take part in the deeply classified research on the Stargate program. They seemed to be friends. Good. What had worked so well at Camstead was bound to succeed brilliantly within the straight-laced ranks of the American military establishment. A suggestion here, a pointed remark there and young Jackson would find himself at best shunned by his former comrades – probably worse, much worse.

Two quick raps on the metal door broke into Kendrick's cheerful thoughts, and he looked up. Right on time. With only an hour or so left on his 24-hour deadline, Jackson was bound to show up soon, and there he stood, face grim above the standard black t-shirt and baggy BDUs that had convinced him that he could blend in with the soldiers on this base. _Not for long._

"Dr. Kendrick, I'd like you to read the report I'm about to turn in to General Hammond concerning the culture of M4S-599." Daniel began speaking from the doorway of his former office, file held tightly in one hand. "Since we both know that your own 'theories' of this civilization are based on some of my own research, I'd think you'd be open to another interpretation."

Leaning back calmly in his chair, Kendrick glanced up at the security camera mounted over the door. "I have no idea what you're talking about, my boy."

"Oh, for…" Daniel quickly took a step inside the room, flung the door shut, locked it, and reached up to yank the cable from the overhead camera. "Look. Major Fletcher and his team are trying to save lives out there, doctor, and whatever power play you have going on here is completely unimportant in the face of that." He walked towards the desk, adrenaline pumping through him. "You took my research and ran with it. Fine. I'm not here to argue about it."

Quickly recovering from his shock at Jackson's unexpected actions, Kendrick stood, all semblance of pleasantry dropping from him. "Just why are you here, my boy?"

"I'm here to try to make you understand that I don't care who gets credit for saving this mission – the lives of the people on that planet, especially the lives of Fletcher and his team, are what we should be concentrating on."

Kendrick's laugh was coldly menacing. "I disagree."

"You –" Daniel was at a loss for words. "You disagree."

"Yes. What's really important, _Dr. Jackson_, is that you realize that your little playground here is under new management."

Daniel turned away from the other man for an instant, and then turned back, disbelief registering in his features. "My _what_? What are you talking about?"

Stepping out from behind his desk, Kendrick walked towards the younger man, eyes raking up and down his slight figure. "I'm talking about your delusion that the military could ever think of someone like you as more than a sort of mascot, a pet of sorts, who is only kept around because of some sense of misplaced loyalty for happening to stumble on the right sequence to open the Stargate in the first place."

"I – someone like – what does that have to do with Major Fletcher?" Daniel's voice grew louder and his gestures wider in his exasperation. His struggle to understand the situation was written all over his face, but Daniel forced himself to stillness, crossed his arms and braced his legs widely apart, as if defending his territory.

Kendrick sneered at the young man's immobile stance. "I don't give a shit about some backwater planet with no tactical importance, and neither does the Air Force." He moved closer, knowing very well how to use his proximity and height to intimidate. "When I'm finished with this Hunvrai treaty, and always assuming it turns out that you're second theory about that planet is correct, nobody is even going to remember a few insignificant airmen. And if they do, I can just admit that it was your idea in the first place." He put one large hand on Daniel's shoulder. "You can't win, boy."

"Dr. Jackson." Daniel's muscles felt like iron as he held himself motionless.

"Hmm?" Kendrick narrowed his eyes, his heart thumping wildly in exhilaration. This boy did not even realize that he was beaten.

"My name. You seem to have a problem remembering it." It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done to just stand there, looking calmly into the eyes of his enemy.

"When I get finished with you, boy," Kendrick cupped his right hand against Daniel's cheek and leaned closer, "you'll have no name to speak of – here or anywhere."

The young man's mouth quirked up and Kendrick blinked, his confidence rattled. Daniel brought both suddenly empty hands up, his right grabbed Kendrick's wrist, pulling, while his left slapped strongly against Kendrick's right shoulder, spinning the man around, and then pushing him away. Kendrick tripped forward, stumbling painfully against the desk and knocking a stack of papers onto the floor, his right wrist now held firmly behind his back.

Daniel let go abruptly and stepped backward. "You're wrong, Dr. Kendrick. You won't be able to explain away the deaths of Major Fletcher and his team. This is Stargate Command – we don't leave people behind." He leaned down and felt for the report he'd dropped with his left hand. Standing slowly, he watched Kendrick turn, rage transforming his usually affable features into an ugly mask. No – this wasn't a mask, this was his first glimpse of Kendrick's true face. "I'm going to see General Hammond to make sure those men return alive." He turned his back on the angry man and strode towards the door.

The quickness of Kendrick's attack took him by surprise, and he felt himself hurled forward towards the metal door, his hands trapped in front of him. Slapping the metal to absorb the impact, Daniel was able to twist his head to the side, avoiding a concussion, but feeling the sharp sting against his cheekbone. He heard the snap in his left wrist, smashing against the door at an awkward angle as he still held the file he'd been carrying. The shock of pain and the pressure of the large man's forearm against his shoulders gave him focus. He was lucky. Kendrick didn't seem to know what to do with him now that he had him.

"You're a fool, a prancing pretty boy who is only tolerated because of his fast talk and our government's guilty conscience." Kendrick leaned his body tightly against Daniel's back, his face pressed close so that his spit flicked the back of his neck. "They brought me in here to replace you because they finally realized that you weren't up to the challenge, _my dear boy_." He pulled his head back slightly to stare down at the back of bowed head in front of him and a thrill ran the length of his body. "I will win. And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

Daniel hunched his shoulders, his head now hanging to his chest as he felt the man ease backwards, his hands now grasping the back of his shirt. Forcing his shoulders down and his head back in one quick movement he felt the satisfying crunch as the back of his head met the small bones of Kendrick's nose. The hands scrabbling against his back were gone, and Daniel turned, cradling his left arm against his body, to see the blood streaming down Kendrick's face beneath his cupped hands, a high keening sound coming from his mouth. Kendrick's eyes were blinded by tears of pain so he missed Daniel's approach, only felt one strong hand grab the front of his shirt as his feet were kicked out from under him. His back hit the concrete floor with a flat slap and he choked for breath before he felt a knee pushed roughly into his chest.

Blinking his eyes clear, Kendrick managed to suck in a lungful of air before the knee pressed harder, and Daniel Jackson's blue eyes came into focus above him. "Perhaps you've mistaken me for one of your easily manipulated undergrads, Dr. Kendrick." The knee pressed harder. "I'm not. I'm Daniel Jackson, a member of SG-1, the frontline team that has been keeping your ass safe from the Goa'uld for the past four years." Daniel brought his face to within inches of Kendrick's. "_You_ don't scare me."

The pressure lifted and Kendrick gasped for breath, pain and confusion sending his thoughts into chaos. He noticed Jackson's footsteps move back towards the desk, and then stride past him quickly to yank the door open. The conversation between Jackson and another, deeper voice barely registered.

"Are you all right, Daniel Jackson?"

"Yeah, Teal'c, thanks. But I think Dr. Kendrick might need a trip to the infirmary. He, ah, slipped and hit his head on the desk."

The other voice hesitated a moment before responding. "I will take care of him."

"…so Dr. Frasier thinks Cosgrove will be out for a couple of months or so after the surgery, but Bates and Loder are good to go in two weeks…" Jack paused in his recitation of the injuries sustained to SG-5 when a loud knock fell on General Hammond's office door.

"Come!" Hammond called out, his eyes still fixed on the incident report atop his desk.

A hand fumbled against the knob, and Jack reached out impatiently to tug the door open. Daniel stumbled inside, arms full, teeth clenched against the throbbing that shot up from his wrist.

"Dr. Jackson?" Hammond frowned, taking in the disheveled state of the archaeologist. "We're not scheduled to meet for…"

"Sorry, General," Daniel interrupted, stepping past Jack to the desk and painfully opening his left hand so that his report fell to the dark surface. He set the small video camera he'd taken from his office book shelf on top of the folder, and then, with his right hand, reached up under his black t-shirt and tugged, removing a small digital recorder and microphone, strips of tape still hanging from the wires. He placed it next to the other items on the perplexed general's desk.

"What the hell is this?" Jack's well-trained eye spotted the graze on his teammate's cheek, and the awkward angle of his left arm before flicking to the recording devices.

"My report," Daniel replied, smiling slightly. "And General?" he sighed, "I really, _really_ hope it's enough this time."

He turned and, meeting Jack's eye, fleetingly, Daniel walked out of the office.


	16. Epilogue

Bridges

Janet Frasier had just put the finishing touches on Daniel's cast when Col. Jack O'Neill entered the infirmary, his eyes blazing. Taking in the protective stances of Carter and Teal'c around Daniel where he sat on the edge of the bed, and the watchful gaze of the SGC's formidable if dainty CMO, he quickly settled his features into some attempt at calm and shoved his hands deep into his pockets so he wouldn't reach out and strangle his archaeologist. His lips thinned as he heard the throaty whining that issued from behind closed curtains at the other end of the infirmary, and Jack nodded towards the two SFs who had entered the medical area on his heels, silently directing them to their positions.

"Well, well, the gang's all here I see," Jack quipped, noticing with pleasure Major Samantha Carter's slight stiffening as he approached the group. Teal'c, unruffled as always, merely put both hands behind his back and shifted to allow Jack access to the area directly in front of Daniel. Hitching up one leg, Jack half-sat on the bed opposite his friend's. "Daniel."

"Jack." He lifted hooded blue eyes to meet Jack's fierce stare.

"Nice little movie you recommended. The general especially liked it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, good dialogue, although the villain came across as a bit arch, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know," Daniel shifted uneasily, wincing as Janet adjusted a sling around his neck, "seemed pretty lifelike to me."

"Uh-huh." Jack let the silence stretch out.

"It was a clean break, colonel, no tendon or muscle damage," Janet Frasier's voice dropped into the awkward moment. "He'll need to be on light duty for a week or so, and then only routine off-world assignments for about four weeks until the cast comes off." Holding up one finger and waggling it in front of Daniel's face she added, "No running, jumping, or getting shot at for at least a month." She slipped off her gloves and took Daniel's face between her hands, one thumb pressing against his bruised cheek.

"Ow."

"It's not broken, just bruised," she assured him. "Well," she sighed, smiling in amusement at the stiff postures of the team members around her, "I guess I'll leave you all to it." One hand patted Daniel's knee before she swept down the aisle towards the dramatic groaning behind the curtains.

"Look, before you…"

"What the hell were you…"

"Sir, I'd just like to…"

Three voices stopped abruptly, and three pairs of eyes turned towards the only silent member of SG-1. Teal'c tilted his head and gazed impassively at the middle distance.

"Okay, what do you say we let the guy with 'colonel' on his uniform speak first," Jack snapped. Sam closed her mouth, but her body language let her commanding officer know that she still had a lot to say. Daniel let his chin drop down against his chest.

"Carter – good job on the recordings. Sound and picture, very nice, gave us everything we need to keep Kendrick quiet and far, far away from any government assignment for the rest of his miserable life." He shifted his gaze away from her startled face. "T? I assume you were in proximity in case our James Bond here needed backup?"

Eyebrows raised at O'Neill's analogy, Teal'c nodded. "Indeed."

"You're both dismissed. It's Saturday," he drawled the word out slowly. "See you Monday morning." He hopped from his perch on the bed. "Daniel, when Frasier releases you I'll drive you home."

"Ah…" Daniel's worried gaze flicked nervously between Sam and Teal'c.

"Sir, I could…"

"Oh, relax, Major," Jack turned, hands out to his sides. "You were right, I was wrong, I'm not going to hurt him…much."

Sam smiled. "Good enough." She put one hand on Daniel's arm and leaned towards him. "I told you it was crazy," she stage whispered before leading Teal'c out of the infirmary.

"Oh, yeah," Jack's eyes twinkled darkly.

A few minutes later Jack led Daniel down the hallway towards the base elevator. "Wait, Jack," Daniel lurched to a halt. "What about Fletcher?"

Jack reached back and patted his friend on his good arm. "Hammond is contacting Esposito to give him your recommendation. They're going to go slow, and Hammond will direct any questions to you or Rothman. Okay?"

Daniel nodded, relief washing through him and leaving him tired, very tired. Jack stepped back and grasped his friend across the shoulders.

"I'm okay," Daniel moved away from the touch and Jack dropped his arm.

Once in the elevator watching the lights blink steadily toward the surface, Jack turned. "Daniel. I meant what I said to Carter. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

"Me too, Jack."

O'Neill slid his eyes towards his friend's, but they were closed. "Hammond's called a meeting for Monday afternoon to discuss staffing."

"Am I invited?"

Jack flinched. "Ah, yeah, he's – we're – going to issue a formal apology."

"Good, that's good," Daniel murmured.

"Hey," Jack shifted to face the other man, leaning his left shoulder against the side of the car in a mirror-image of Daniel's pose and grasped his left arm above the elbow carefully to get his teammate's attention. "You know that was a stupid, reckless stunt, don't you?"

"Was it?" Daniel's eyes flew open. He knew they had to have this out, but wasn't willing for Jack to take the lead. "I was careful, I used your training, and I made sure I had back-up. I didn't do anything I didn't have to do."

Jack nodded reluctantly, allowing Daniel to continue.

"You admitted yourself that you weren't listening, so I knew I couldn't go to you for help. I acted to protect those for whom I'm responsible." Hesitating a moment, Daniel was relieved to notice that he did not have to struggle for control. "I learned that from you, Jack. I am learning. I hope you realize that I'm not the sneezy geek you need to rescue from himself any more. At least, I hope I'm not."

"I think that guy left with the girly hair," Jack smirked.

Daniel smiled briefly in response. "I've been through a lot this year, Jack. Now, I'm not promising to turn into a good little soldier…"

"…airman…" Jack corrected.

"…airman," Daniel acknowledged. "I'm still going to argue passionately for what I believe is right…"

"…wouldn't have it any other way…"

"…and I'll probably fight you on some of your more brainless decisions."

"Oh, 'more brainless' now," Jack mimicked.

Daniel ignored him. "But I promise never to put research before the team again. In any way." He searched Jack's dark eyes for the trust that he desperately needed.

The elevator door slid open at the surface, but neither man moved. Finally, Jack nodded and steadied his friend as they made their way down the tunnel towards the clear evening air. He believed him. The two stood under the first evening stars for a moment, each one listening to an inner voice.

Daniel remembered the sincerity in Teal'c's eyes at one of his darkest moments:_ "True strength is to see - in the moment of battle, in the timeless place between thought and action - to see the right thing to do and to be willing to risk everything – everything, Daniel Jackson – in order to do it."_

Jack felt deep pride and remembered fighting down an exultant yell when he heard his friend's recorded words: _"Perhaps you've mistaken me for one of your easily manipulated undergrads, Dr. Kendrick. I'm not. I'm Daniel Jackson, a member of SG-1, the frontline team that has been keeping your ass safe from the Goa'uld for the past four years. You don't scare me." _He hoped he finally believed it.

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. For those of you who wanted the story to last longer, I am a firm believer that all good stories must come to an end. Sooner rather than later. For fans of **_**Best Intentions**_**, I am sorry, but this story begged to be written before I continued. **

**BTW, Stargate fans are awesome. Isn't it interesting that after 10 years of episodes and two movies we are still telling these characters' stories?**


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